


Let It Then Bear Fruit

by rabbitwriter



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Cumplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Friendship, F/M, Foreplay, I finally gave in to this muse, Imperial Officers, Implied unresolved sexual tension, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Light Bondage, Military Backstory, Military Kink, Mix of Legends and Current canon, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Old Friends, Oral Sex, Power Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Seduction, Shared shower that's not a shared shower, Thrawn in a sleeveless undershirt, Training room shenanigans, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, as interpreted by the author, implied slow burn, sex more than once a night, tries to stay true to Thrawn's characterization in Rebels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitwriter/pseuds/rabbitwriter
Summary: They'd known each other since the Academy, drawn together by the very things that set them apart. They'd forged a friendship that spanned thirty years of military service...but she'd always wanted more. She'd tried to chase that chance before graduating the Academy, but he'd turned her down. She never tried to cross that line again. Their friendship was more important.Now, she's a director of the Imperial Security Bureau's Internal Affairs division. She's on his flagship, under cover, to help him catch a traitor. And while she's there, within his grasp, Grand Admiral Thrawn finally decides that maybe he made one of his rare mistakes so many years before. Or, if not a mistake...then at least a decision he should have reversed long before now. He doesn't tell her any of this, of course. It's much more fun to catch what could have been, unaware, over an training room mat.**Inspired by Rebel's Force-forsaken mid-season trailer. Thrawn's bare arms undid my resolution to never try and write him/about him. So help me.





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep Thrawn as in-character as I possibly could, between what we know from the Legends timeline and what we've seen so far in Rebels. However, a Thrawn of amorous intent is kriffing difficult to characterize properly, I'll have you know. I did try to stick to a few "guidelines", though:
> 
> \- I'll be playing off his art obsession, as a large basis for his attraction/seduction. Tattoos are a form of art, dammit. Even Mirialan ones (which are basically geometric patterns)  
> \- Our "new" Thrawn has a pretty sharp sense of humor. At least I think so. I've laughed at a few things he's said so far...but that might be because I'm prior military? (Navy, no less. We have our own sense of humor.)  
> \- Our "new" Thrawn also shows more "cracks" beneath his polished Imperial facade. I've been fascinated by this since "Hera's Heroes". OMG. The clips in the new trailer don't help. He's a bad-ass, he has a temper, and he's hands on. Ergo, I think he's more aggressive (less cold/aloof) than he might have come across in the Legends timeline.  
> \- Also thanks to "Hera's Heroes", I think Thrawn has a sore spot for the Empire's anti-xeno attitudes. You can make the argument that he got pissed off because of how Captain-what's-his-name talked about art...but since Thrawn says that himself, I'm inclined to think it goes a bit deeper. If you re-watch the episode, you'll note that hand-in-hand with those uneducated comments about the kalikori, are derogatory comments about a non-human species. Frankly, I think THAT'S what sets Thrawn off. The art is an excuse IMHO. I use this as a basis for his friendship with the OFC.  
> \- Thrawn's a lot more mischievous in this, but I excuse this with: this takes place "beyond the camera", so to speak. And, our friends - especially the best ones, who stick with us 30+ freakin' years - always see a more complete picture of us. It's hard for me to think that he'd completely maintain the Grand Admiral mask, when he's alone with an old friend. From what I know of military friendships, even those between senior officers, they just don't work that way. That's part of their beauty.
> 
> We're also going to ignore the rules of fraternization and the reality of service-specific academies (realistically, they probably wouldn't have been at the same Academy, if he was Navy and she was Army. But, plot). Okay? 'Kay.
> 
> Lastly, if you're a civilian reader, you may find it strange that two friends can be so close to each other, if they barely see each other every few years. But, if you forge a tight friendship in the military, it is my experience (and the experience of everyone I know) that two friends can go forever-and-a-day without talking to each other, then pick up where they left off. I assume that this is the same for service academy cadets; I went to a prep school for one of the academies and have experienced a similar ability to just pick up a friendship again after years have gone by. No joke: ran into a friend from my old cadre on an escalator in DragonCon...we hung out all day, been in touch with each other ever since. It'd been almost 10 years since we'd seen each other/spoken to one another. But, you better believe the camaraderie, friendship, and warmth was still there in spades. Again, that might seem a little "unrealistic" from a civilian standpoint, but it's the way of things on this end.

_“Nothing great is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig. I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen.”_

**Epictetus**

* * *

 

 

I leaned against the doorframe and watched him; once, in the Academy, the two of us had been inseparable. Our differences were what had bound the two of us together - he, an alien of an origin he never divulged, and me, the adopted _human_ daughter of a Mirialan family. I had often thought that without his friendship, I’d have never graduated; I wasn’t so sure, however, if he felt the same about me, for him.

Neither one of us could hide who we were. He, defined immediately by his pale blue skin and crimson eyes. Me, by the Mirialan tattoos that steepled beneath my eyes and arched across the bridge of my nose. The first two, I’d had when I’d first arrived on the Academy’s parade ground. The second, he’d gone with me to get the night of graduation - he’d been the accomplice who had understood the significance of marking on my skin, in the way I had been taught, the achievement of passing through four grueling years, and graduating with honors as the only woman in our entire cadre to make it to the end. I’d always suspected that it had been him who had kept me from being shown the boot out of the military before I’d even had a chance to put my training to good use. I had performed an act that was alien, that was non-compliant with Imperial regulation, that was a visible reminder of who I really was in spite of my DNA.

I had also known that he’d had influential friends in high places. How high, he’d never said and I’d never pried. But, I was now willing to bet my thirty years of service, that whoever it was, had been high enough to bend the rules they’d written.

It didn’t matter, now. It was so long ago in the past - another lifetime, practically. I had other tattoos, incidentally, but they were conveniently covered by stiff cloth and polished leather. I had learned to blend in, as best as I could, as a human with alien roots. Everyone did, in the Empire, in the end.

Even him. Although, as I watched him take down two droids with nothing more than his feet, fists, and a staff-like weapon of some sort, I realized that, like me, his conformity went only as deep as the uniform. He was ruthless and after a time, in the Academy, he’d grown comfortable enough to show that side of him around me. And not the sort of ruthlessness that inevitably came of climbing the ladder of Imperial command; this was an innate trait, a flash of hot-red amid all the cool blue. His eyes had always held the secret of what lay beneath; I’d never been afraid to see him for what he really was.

Although, _what_ he was, would always be something of a mystery. I knew what everyone knew - he was a genius. He was driven. He was gracious, condescending, infuriating, and insightful all at once. He was a considerable contradiction, the pinnacle of which was the Grand Admiral’s uniform that framed his alien body. He was also loyal, perhaps to a fault. Although, to _what_  he was loyal, I’d never been able to discern. He _said_ all the right things and talked the right talk about the glory of the Empire, blah blah blah. But, I’d always watched his eyes when he espoused the party line and I’d often wondered if there wasn’t something _else_ , something _stronger_ , something _greater_ that drove him forward, undaunted, through the ranks of an alien, and often hostile, military. I thought there almost _had_ to be something _more_ to his motivations; _I’d_ almost been broken by the Empire, because of the family who raised me, because of my gender. I wasn’t _truly_ an alien, though, and that much had spared me, to some extent. He’d never had even that; I’d seen the truth of that first hand, all those years before.

The two of us had crossed paths plenty of times in the course of our careers. After all, the circles of command got smaller and smaller the higher one went. And, the two of us were friends. Always had been. I’d always thought it’d be reasonable to think the two of us always would be. I’d known him in the beginning, before he had fully adjusted to the Empire, to command, to social expectations. I’d seen him lose his temper twice at the Academy, on two _very_ memorable occasions. I’d seen him grab another cadet by the front of his uniform and make a strange, alien _hissing_ noise in the back of his throat, something almost _reptilian_ in the sound of it. He never allowed himself to be goaded into a proper fight, but he knew how to _intimidate_ ; once word had gotten around about how absolutely _terrifying_ he was, close up and angry, no one dared provoke him. I’d seen him pushed too far and on far more frequent occasions, had seen him take his rage out on training droids like the ones that currently littered the floor of the senior officer’s training room. Over time, I’d seen him channel his obvious passion into peerless technique; I’d seen him learn how to keep his hands behind his back and intimidate through a razor-thin wit; I’d watched him craft his mask. By the time we both graduated, he’d started using that mask on _me_. My only comfort at the time and since, was that his reasons for projecting that carefully crafted persona toward me was for reasons far different than those he reserved for others.

I was given Thrawn, the Imperial outsider and military genius, because I’d kissed him. It had taken a long time, a lot of age, and a lot of distance, for me to forgive him of the way he’d so abruptly shut away the friend who’d pulled me out of the mud that first night of Hell Week.

We’d both been cool toward each other for a few years after. But, once I’d reached my late twenties and he his mid-thirties (I assumed, at least), the past could be interpreted from a different point of view. The warmth had crept back into our interactions with one another; familiarity had followed. But, I never forgot where the line was and I never tried to cross it again.

“An unexpected pleasure, Colonel,” that soft voice - so completely at odds with what one might have expected from him - pulled me out of my thoughts and I finally focused on the present.

My smile was a bit rueful.

“Admiral. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I thought I’d surprise you,” I paused and narrowed my eyes at him, almost playfully. “I _did_ surprise you, yes?”

“To a point,” he’d had his back turned to me when he first addressed me, but now he turned around and clasp his gloved hands around the staff that he had placed in front of him, between his slightly-parted feet.

I rolled my eyes and muttered, “ _To a point._ ”

“I _did_ just put a request through to Internal Affairs for an additional officer to come aboard for a time. Secretly, of course,” he eyed my black uniform, which designated me as an officer of the Imperial Navy troopers.

It was as far removed from my usual - and instantly recognizable - white-and-black uniform, of the Imperial Security Bureau. I lifted an eyebrow at him and waited for him to finish his thoughtful consideration of my cover.

“I’m surprised. I suppose that officer will be you?” it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I get bored behind a desk,” I flashed him my best smile. “And incidentally, no. I just tagged along for the ride. An excuse to see an old friend, which no one needs to know about. And to keep a close eye on the developing situation. Internal Affairs has handled many cases of sedition in the past, but this one…” my gaze unfocused a bit as I chose my next words carefully. “We’ve never had to sniff out a traitor in such a high profile position before.”

“What makes you think this individual has a ‘high profile’?” he fished, as he always did.

“They're someone associated with _you_ \- either here on your flagship, or down on Lothal. You’ve indicated that you believe it’s someone with enough rank and influence to move through _both_ spheres, which places them, if not in the very center of your activities, then within the circle. There’s very few in the Empire who can claim as high a profile as you, Admiral.”

“I suppose that is so,” he agreed, almost casually; before I could snort over his (admittedly justified) arrogance, he continued smoothly: “So, you’ve invited yourself along, to ensure that all goes well? A bit of a micromanager, don’t you think?”

“This is high stakes,” I defended my decision without taking offense. “If it’s one thing I’ve learned about the Rebels, sir, it’s that things have a tendency to go in their favor, if the right hand doesn't keep control of the situation.”

“How very true,” his voice was deep, soft, a _purr_ ; I stifled a sigh.

It didn’t matter how many years had passed between the two of us, I would always be a fool for _that_ voice.

“So, what are you supposed to be? I’m afraid I don’t have any vacancies among the officers in my Fleet company.”

I smirked. I couldn’t help it. I’d known from the start that my answer to this question would ruffle his proverbial feathers.

“You do, however, have the conspicuous lack of an aide, _sir_ ,” I knew my eyes were mischievous and I couldn’t have cared less. “And senior Naval officers usually pick their aides out of the Fleet regiment. So, I’m here to run your errands for you and to protect you, should your life depend upon it.”

He just lifted an eyebrow, the expression in his eyes sardonic. I couldn’t help laughing and gesturing toward the weapon in his hands.

“Of course, anyone who’s ever seen you pull a blaster, would know that you hardly need help staying alive. It’s good to know my duties here shouldn’t be that interesting.”

“Indeed,” his tone was dry, but there was something of a smile in his eyes; I’d known him long enough to recognize it. “An excellent cover, Colonel - or, rather,” his eyes fell to the insignia on my upper chest. “ _Major_ ,” there was a slight pause and then he seemed to have pieced something together; the look he shot me would have cowed lesser beings. “There would have to have been paperwork to make your ‘transfer’ convincing. Did you _forge_ my signature?”

“Why, I never!” I tried to act indignant and utterly failed, so I tried instead not to laugh. “You act as if I transcribed papers for you in the Academy! Or that your handwriting hasn't changed in thirty years!”

“I will never, for the life of me, know how you managed to head an entire division of Internal Affairs,” he shook his head; I couldn’t detect any hint of sarcasm, however, so I paused and took him seriously for a moment.

“Why? Because I love being alive? Because I genuinely enjoy the few good moments that pass by? I have just as much of a command presence as _you_ , Admiral,” I tried to look down my nose down at him, but that was rather hard to do, since he towered over me by a good head-and-shoulders. “But, I’m with an old friend, am I not? There’s no one here but us,” I waved my hand around the series of interconnected rooms in front of and behind us. “And I’m not under your command - I’m not even in the same military branch as you. Surely, in private, I don’t have to keep the stiff upper lip?”

“Only you, Colonel,” he murmured, his tone almost fond; I found my eyes locked with his. “Only you have _ever_ been brave enough to act as if I were nothing more than, as you put it, ‘an old friend’.”

“Aren’t we?” I couldn’t help crossing my arms a bit defensively.

He didn’t even pause and that put me immediately at ease.

“Yes, we are. It _is_ good to see you,” he bowed his head slightly toward me. “And to see more of you, for a while perhaps, than what we’ve been able to manage through the years, at military functions and Imperial soirees.”

“Then it’s settled,” I hadn’t realized that I’d been worried over the matter, until my shoulders loosened. “I’ll be at your side, then, until my men finish their work.”

“I find that to be a quite agreeable idea,” he smiled faintly, and then surprised me by turning on his heel and beckoning me to follow him. “Spar with me.”

I gave the droids a dubious look.

“The droids not challenging enough?”

“They can be,” he answered mildly. “You walked in at the conclusion of their warm-up program.”

“I don’t know if you remember our days at the Academy with any clarity. But if you do...I haven’t gotten much better,” I tried not to sound nervous when I laughed. “Not enough to go up against the likes of you, that is.”

“Perhaps that’s been the problem,” he gave me his first genuine smile, which was rather terrifying to the uninitiated, as it was all teeth and curled back lips.

There was that hint of what lay beneath. _So,_ I thought to myself - because I _had_ wondered over the years - _he hasn’t lost that part of himself after all._

“You haven’t had _me_ to spar with.”

I just gave him a deadpanned look, straight in the eye.

“Really? You’re insinuating I haven’t gotten better because I haven’t had to fight _you_?”

“I’m not insinuating,” and there was that insufferable smugness that hadn’t waned a bit since those first days of the Academy; if anything, it’d gotten _worse_. “I’m stating plainly. And,” he raised a hand to elegantly cut me off. “You sell yourself short - a bad habit of yours. You were always better at wrestling than me.”

Only, I was certain, because he’d been uncomfortable wrestling with a woman. Yet, the two of us had always been paired by the instructors - the two freaks that no one else wanted to touch, even in simulated combat. I realized that he was looking at me expectantly, so I shrugged noncommittally.

“Let’s begin with that, then,” he set his staff carefully on its pins, in one of the bulkhead displays. “Let’s see if _I_ ’ve gotten better.”

I hoped my expression didn’t communicate the utter dismay I suddenly felt. I looked at the floor and then at him; finally, I shook my head with what I hoped was a self-deprecating smile.

“The first time we get to see each other in five years, and you want to roll around on a mat with me?”

I realized as soon as the words were out of my mouth, what exactly they sounded like. I shut my mouth so fast, my teeth clicked, but I didn’t make any attempt to retract what I’d said. That’d only make it worse. So, I met his gaze and tried not to flush in embarrassment.

That feral smile was back. He said nothing, just bowed sarcastically at the waist and motioned toward the floor between us. I had to work some spit into my mouth, in order to swallow. I hadn’t said this much to Thrawn in one encounter in _ten years_ , never mind been this _close_ to him in all that time. Or...this _alone_ with him.

“I’m hardly dressed for this,” I tried to grasp at the one straw that I could manage without being too painfully obvious about how _very much I didn’t_ want to do this with him. Now. Or ever.

“One can hardly know when the enemy strikes,” he waved an imperious hand at my uniform, which was immaculate and well-pressed and very much _not_ what I’d want to wear while rolling around on a mat with _Grand Kriffing Admiral_ Thrawn.

Not that I’d ever _want_ to roll around on a mat with Thrawn. Ever. Maybe I would have...once upon a time...in our Academy days. But not now. Not now that we’re both older, wiser, and a lot more jaded. Or, at least, so I told myself.

“The only officer in the whole Empire who’s more manipulative than you, is Orson Krennic,” I couldn’t help but be a bit waspish, even as my hands fell to the belt at my waist.

Thrawn’s already thin lips practically disappeared.

“I’m offended,” he said in that soft, even voice, but his eyes glittered dangerously.

Oops.

“You’re right. That was a low blow,” I winced. “Be glad you’ve never had to meet him in _person_.”

“I’ve done quite well enough just on hearsay,” Thrawn practically sniffed, his hands behind his back as he waited patiently for me to pull off my uniform jacket and hang it carefully on a convenient peg by the doorway. “Although, I’ve heard it’s... _entertaining_...to watch him and Grand Moff Tarkin have a go at each other.”

“Not when it happens in your office,” I muttered with an exasperated eye-roll; Thrawn gave me a look of interest, but refrained from carrying the conversation any further.

Instead, he brought his hands out from behind his back and dropped his weight into his knees. Okay, then. We were doing this. Right _now_ , apparently.

He moved first and I turned to catch his wrist as he moved in. I pulled him forward, while rotating to the side, using my hips and his momentum to flip him forward, quite literally head over heels. I had to follow him down, though, in order to keep a hold of him, and the two of us grappled around on the floor for several seconds, as I tried to catch him in a choke-hold. He was trying to get one arm between my legs, and one around my neck, so he could bend me to an angle I couldn’t break. I won, however, and he slammed his hand to the mat after a few more undignified attempts to break my hold.

Neither of us said anything as we pushed ourselves away from each other and stood up. In the next round, Thrawn took me down with a neat sweep of his foot beneath mine. Some more frantic movement across the mat and he had my head between his legs and my arm at an angle that left no doubt in my mind that the best course of action was to slap the floor in defeat.

The next twenty minutes were spent with variations of the same theme. Between the two of us, there was the rustle of clothing, the slap of skin against skin as we grabbed each other, and heavy bursts of breath that only got more ragged the longer we went on. It had been cool - even a bit chilly - in the room when I entered, but before long, we were both dripping sweat. I hadn’t had such a challenging opponent in _years_ and it only took five minutes for me to figure out that Thrawn had been falsely modest. He _had_ improved. Whatever edge I’d had on him in the Academy, was lost now. I remembered our fights as cadets quite clearly; there had always been the sense of him holding something back, of him being somehow reluctant to touch me as intimately as the fighting style often required. He had no such sense about him now; in fact, every move was fair  game and I was gasping for breath and sore by the end of it.

“Stars, Thrawn, I concede!" I finally gasped, my head between his legs for the upteenth, and increasingly uncomfortable, time.

He let go immediately with something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. I didn’t even bother looking over at him. I was too winded.

“I’m a mature woman in her forties!” I rubbed my throat and tried desperately to catch my breath. “You’re pushing what? Fifty-something? What do they _feed_ you on these star destroyers?” I asked the overhead above and its searingly bright lights.

“If you’ll recall, I have a significantly higher metabolism than you humans,” he answered mildly from the floor beside me. “Which means I have a higher level of energy to regulate. I do this every morning and night. If I didn’t, especially in the unstimulating environment that is day-to-day shipboard life, I do believe I’d have murdered someone by now.”

“I have heard a rumor about you shooting some poor ensign in the face,” I pointed out.

“He had the audacity to lie. Furthermore, there _are_ consequences to incompetence.”

“That’s what a court martial is for, Thrawn,” the familiarity of our present positions made me forget my military courtesies; he didn’t seem to mind, though.

I turned my head to look at him; he was laying beside me, hands folded on his chest. His chest, which had felt glorious, and hard, and strong wherever it had touched my body, was now falling into a steady pace, much more quickly than mine. He lifted one of those elegant hands and waved it dismissively in front of his face.

“An option I would have taken. If he hadn’t lied. To my face.”

I sighed. Thrawn never second-guessed his actions. Sometimes, in the past, his choices had scared me. That, apparently, was a trait of his that time hadn’t changed. He had a different moral code from mine, after all. I always took comfort in the fact that at least he had morals. Unlike some other officers I could name…

I groaned as I flexed my stomach muscles and sat up. I looked down at myself in disgust and swiped at some of the moisture on my cheeks.

“I’ve got your _sweat_ in my hair,” I rebuked him mildly; he had the audacity to chuckle in that low, almost-inaudible way of his.

“Surely, there are worse things,” he side-eyed me and then sat up himself.

“I need a shower and a fresh set of clothes,” I grumbled and chose to ignore the suggestion that _it might not be so bad_ to have his sweat all over me.

“I can’t help you with your clothes, but I’ll show you to the showers,” he stood up and offered me his hand.

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him, as I once did in the Academy whenever he tried to be “gallant”. Instead, I grasped his warm hand in mine and grunted as he hauled me to my feet. I was going to feel this in the morning.

“This way,” he dropped my hand and began marching in that long-legged, straight-backed pace he’d always used; not for the first time, I found myself wondering if he’d grown up in a military family, since I’d never known him to walk any other way.

I nearly ran into the bulkhead, though, when he he reached up, grabbed the back of his black, sleeveless undershirt, and began to pull it up over his slicked-back hair. If he heard me sputtering at his naked back, he gave no indication, as he passed through another doorway and turned left. He slung the damn thing over his shoulder and began pulling off his gloves, as he took a right and then stopped. I nearly ran into him, as distracted as I was.

“The showers,” he motioned toward the partitioned room in front of us.

He then put his foot up on a bench in the center of the room, between the shower stalls and a row of lockers, and began _to pull them off_. I stared, nonplussed, as first one boot and then the other, fell to the deck. When his hands grabbed the waistband of his white pants, I finally found my voice.

“What are you _doing_?” I tried not to stare at him slack-jawed.

He just looked over at me and lifted an eyebrow. _As if he didn’t know_.

“I’m taking a shower as well. I believe I _sweated_ all over you, yes?”

“But…” words failed me, as I gestured vaguely at the stalls in front of us.

A sly smile crept along the edges of his mouth. I wanted to stab him.

“Everything on board is combined use,” his teeth flashed so very white against his skin; I wanted to melt into the nearby drain. “Men, women - we all use the same facilities.”

“At the same time?” I insisted.

He shrugged, nonchalant.

“If necessary.”

“It is _not_ necessary, in this case,” I abruptly turned my back on him as I saw his thumbs begin to slid down the curve of his hips, his pants traveling along with them.

“ _I_ am going to be ten minutes late to breakfast, as it is,” he said in the tone of a man who was _never_ late. “As will my new aide, if she doesn’t get over herself. And I shall be forced to be displeased.”

“I’m pretty sure aides don’t take showers with their commanding officers,” I muttered to a locker.

“We’re hardly in the same stall,” he reprimanded mildly; there was a brief pause and then: “Now, please make yourself presentable, _Major_. Or I will undress you and toss you under a shower-head _myself_.”

He _wouldn’t_.

I knew better.

“You’re abusing thirty years of friendship,” I growled, as I reluctantly grabbed the bottom of my white undershirt and tugged it up.

“We did the same exact thing in the Academy,” he was as unruffled as ever; did anything ever get under his skin? “Or don’t you remember?”

“I remember undressing behind separate _partitions_ and yelling at you to _shut your kriffing curtain_ ,” I ground out between my teeth as I _finally_ heard one of the sonic showers behind me start to run.

I didn’t hear anything in reply and I cursed softly under my breath as I pulled my pants and underwear off - a little more roughly than was strictly necessary. When I turned around, Thrawn was safely hidden behind one of the stalls further down the row. I scuttled quickly into the nearest one and yanked the beige duraplast curtain closed behind me.

The Emperor have mercy. I wanted to wonder who this Thrawn was and what he had done with the old one. But, I couldn’t. This was the way our friendship had always worked. Or, at least, it had until circumstances changed it. I paused a moment under the hard jets of air that blew through my unbound hair.

He was acting almost like he’d had in our Academy days. Less Grand Admiral, more Cadet. I wasn’t sure what to think of that…but, either way, it was still Thrawn. Inscrutable and infuriatingly superior as always.

I tried not to think of his hands on my hips earlier, as he threw me onto the mat time over and time again without any seeming effort. Or of his magnificent backside, which I had seen more than once in our Academy days - hence, the constant complaints about not closing his curtain. I hadn’t ever made up my mind about whether he’d always done that on purpose...and I certainly didn’t want to find out whether or not his curtain was closed this time around.

Or, so I told myself.


	2. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn shows his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two wanted a slow build, apparently. This chapter was waaaaaay longer than I intended. They spend quite a bit of talking in the beginning...for some reason, in spite of their long friendship, Thrawn wanted to let my OFC in on some little secrets. I'm not sure where he was going with that, but I'm going to guess that in the next chapter or so, he'll explain that it was intended to cement her admiration of him. Or, something like that.
> 
> There's a lot of allusion to the Legends representation of Thrawn in this conversation of theirs, most particularly from "Visions of the Future", part two of the Hand of Thrawn duology. In some ways, I kind of feel like my OFC is a certain mix of Pelleaon and Parck, in the way she relates to and understands Thrawn. I wasn't going for that...but I'm not going to argue with her. There are worse roles for her to vaguely fill. Also, I'm going with the Legends interpretation of Thrawn's motivations (as explained by Parck, mostly, to Luke and Mara in VotF), because I freakin' love it. Thrawn is layers of manipulation, upon layers of good intentions, upon layers of hubris. He's the perfect example of how lawful good can so easily turn evil...and at least for me, as a reader, that's made it really hard for me to make up my mind whether I truly hate him or not. In fact, the jury will probably always be out, in that regard (until Mr. Zahn reveals the new canon in April, anyway...)
> 
> Just to note...Thrawn turns much more toward the canon representation of him, toward the end of the chapter. I'm hoping these two "sides" of him mesh. I think they do...but I'm obviously biased about my own writing/interpretation. Please let me know what you think of how it turned out!

_“There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it.”_

**George Bernard Shaw**

* * *

  


The next few days were definitely a break from the routine I’d fallen into since making colonel (for the second time). Thrawn was an exacting task master and if I’d had any illusion that he’d “cut me some slack” (to use an old Alderaanian sailor’s saying), he banished it within the first hour after our first breakfast together. I told him I was undercover, as his aide, so he played his role beautifully.

Could I have ever expected any less of him? He did _everything_ beautifully, the bastard.

I, on the other hand, had unexpected difficulty in the role I had chosen for myself. I was no longer used to taking orders - at least, not in the way an aide, or a major, was expected to take orders. I was also not used to _busy work_. I’ll never be convinced that Thrawn didn’t _casually_ ask me to bring him his caf one morning, just to laugh at my back after I very clearly refrained myself from comparing him to Director Krennic again, for all his unapologetic opportunism _._

Actually, Thrawn seemed to get a great deal of private amusement out of sending me about on mundane tasks, especially if they involved caf. After about three days of this, I asked him rather acidly if I should just bring him an IV from the medbay. In my defense, he was a tad addicted to the stuff…but then again, so was every Naval officer over the rank of lieutenant. His only response was to look at me drolly over the rim of his freshest cup and to tell me to meet him in the senior officer’s training room at 1800.

From 1800 to 1930, I got my ass handed to me. This time, we sparred in a less rolling-about-the-mat sort of way. I didn’t land a single punch, but he clocked me good just below my right eye. I may or may not have kicked the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy’s feet out from under him, in retaliation, when he stopped to investigate the damage. He took my fit of pique graciously and made it up to me, by escorting me back to his secondary command deck and offering me an ice pack and a bottle of crisp Endorian apple cider. How or why he just _happened_ to have one of my favorite drinks on hand, is a question for which I’ve never sought an answer. There are some aspects of Thrawn’s mystique that are best accepted at their face value; I’d learned _that_ as early as the Academy.

He decided, after that incident, that I was apparently his newest _special_ _project_. That meant that he thoroughly abused both our years of friendship _and_ his rank, and conned me into the training room twice every day. 0500 every morning; 1800 every night.

I wanted him to choke on his kriffing caf.

It wasn’t so much the physical training. It was good for me; my years as an administrator had made me soft - literally. And if I was going to be rousted out of bed at some unholy hour every morning, it was at least made better by the sight of my old friend in a sleeveless black undershirt that stretched a little too tight over his chest. The sight of his bare arms was unfailingly _inspirational._

No, what got me hot under the collar was the fact that he always herded me into the shower afterwards. Again, not such a bad thing at face value. But, he’d always start undressing halfway there and made it quite obvious that he didn’t think it was any big deal to try and finish the deal once the showers came in sight.

This might have been grossly misinterpreted if he were a human man. But, Thrawn had never been burdened by the same codes of modesty as the rest of us in the Academy. I always figured that his culture - whatever it was - sexualized naked bodies far less than humans did.  It was, however, unbearable to endure day-in-and-day-out, especially when it was just the two of us in those shower stalls. Because, the Emperor so help me, I was sexualizing Grand Admiral Thrawn’s body, whether he intended for me to do so or not. One day, I finally crowded him into his customary stall while he still had his pants and his left boot on. Without a word, I glared up at him and then ripped the beige curtain shut between us. He could get my point well enough without me spelling it out for him.

He didn’t say anything, likewise, but I knew immediately that I’d made the wrong move. Now he _knew_ that his casual stripping got under my skin. He might not know why...yet...but realization was surely dawning on the horizon.

I swore under my breath the entire time I took my shower that morning.

Our activities together, as benign as they were, were starting to stir up old memories. It had been fairly easy to remain a virgin through my first three years at the Academy; no one wanted me any more than any of the few women there wanted Thrawn. Our final year, though, I decided I was tired of wondering about what it was I was “missing”. I’d figured out fairly early on that I found Thrawn attractive - not just because he stuck by my side as the odd man out in the cadre, but because I found him quite physically striking as well. I’d never thought “handsome”, per se, but his eyes and his hands had always fascinated me...and that _voice_ of his. And...just maybe...I had often wondered if that peculiar hissing of his was _only_ an expression of anger…

Physically, there hadn't been many boundaries between us - less then than now, in fact. We had sparred together, we had wrestled together, we had run together, we had walked to classes together, we had eaten together, we had kriffin showered together (after a sort). We’d even slept together, on the several outdoor training expeditions our cadet battalion had taken. We had usually fallen asleep sitting side-by-side, my head on his shoulder, his cheek on the top of my cap (or helmet, or bare hair). Once, he had fallen asleep on the ground, on his back, and I had fallen asleep nearby - when we had woken up, however, I had been plastered to his side. He ran so hot, that even through all the layers of our clothes and sleeping bags, he had drawn my cold human body to him like a moth to flame.

The forced closeness of our experiences, and our cadre’s prejudices, had lead me to decide that I wanted Thrawn to help me sate some of my awakening desires. I kissed him one night, toward the end of that final year, as we sat outside the barracks and studied by ourselves. He hadn’t returned the kiss and had gravely told me that I was better off choosing another human. I tried to tell him that if he thought that I wanted him only for his differences, then he could shove it. He was my _friend_. I _trusted_ him. That we’d been through thick and thin together, so why not this? That’s when the mask he’d carefully crafted fell harshly between us.

We had overcome that...but time and distance hadn’t changed much of what I’d felt for him in my early twenties. He was still my friend. I was still attracted to him. I still trusted him. That last part was the most important to me, really - as I had grown older, I’d only become more aware of how I didn’t really know what it was like to trust the men I slept with. They were always out for something - promotion and prestige, most often. I was a rare success story within the Imperial military elite - a woman who had climbed the ranks of the ISB to a position of unquestionable authority. I was far too often a prize to be claimed by military men...and civilian men simply couldn’t keep up with me. I’d made peace with it all, or so I thought...until Thrawn started grabbing any part of my body he so desired every morning and flipping me repeatedly onto my back.

I was a forty-something year old woman and within a week, I was starting to fantasize in private like a twenty-year-old again. It was ridiculous. _I_ was ridiculous. My temper grew shorter and shorter with each passing morning. I thought I did a rather excellent job of hiding my frustration - after all, I’d had a lifetime of Imperial military service to learn the art of masking my emotions - but, I should have known better around Thrawn.

He was, after all, more than a Grand Admiral to me. We knew each other too well, for the luxury of such distance.

* * *

 

“Dinner, huh?” I folded my arms and scowled down at Thrawn’s version of a war room table, in the middle of his private command deck.

“I insist,” his voice was as cool as the air around us, as it always was. “We were having such an excellent discussion. Why interrupt? And, I often take my meals here.”

Well, he had me there. It just felt...oddly intimate...to share a meal with the Grand Admiral in his private spaces. I finally shrugged and lifted the cover of the tray closest to me on the table. I considered the meal there with some surprise.

“Nothing special for the Admiral, hm?” I couldn’t help a note of admiration as I picked up a bowl of fresh greens in one hand and a fork in the other.

I’d seen what some commanders told themselves they deserved as privileges of their rank. In fact, while my division specifically sought out sedition, I’d spent most of my time climbing the ranks in Internal Affairs while sniffing out fraud and greed. Thrawn’s meal was most likely the same as we’d find in the senior officer’s mess that night - greens, some cooked vegetables, and meat.

As the favorite saying of Internal Affairs went: “Nothing to see here. Move along.”

“The crew eats a balanced diet,” Thrawn shrugged himself as he went for his bowl of meat. “And I require nothing special above or beyond that. I insist only on having my meals served in dishes. Easier to hold when I walk and think.”

“You never could do one without the other,” I mused around a mouthful; my table manners were never what one would have called ‘polished’, even _after_ four years of cotillion classes at the Academy.

I blamed it on having grown up as a spacer’s daughter.

“It is in my nature, I suppose,” he murmured, as he moved toward a compartment on the far bulkhead.

I leaned my hip against the war table and finished my salad, as he pulled something out of said compartment and strolled back with it. I raised an eyebrow when I spotted the label.

“Emerald wine?” I glanced at him from across the table; he kept the lights rather dim and his eyes faintly glowed in the shadows.

“From Lothal,” there was an upside-down cup on his tray that he flipped over and set in the center of the table next to the wine. “Its vintage predates the Clone Wars.”

He reached over and plucked my own upside-down cup off of my tray. I eyed the two utterly nondescript duraplast cups with something of a smile.

“Shipboard rations and vintage wine,” I turned that wry smile up to him. “You’re quite the contradiction, as always, Admiral.”

“Not really, no,” he disagreed mildly as he finished his bowl of meat and moved on to his vegetables. “I have many fine tastes - art, wine, literature, music. I simply see no need to indulge in excess,” he paused and then conceded: “Except perhaps when it comes to art.”

“You have the originals of all the holograms, yes?” I motioned with my bowl of meat toward a holo-painting that the two of us had been discussing before dinner arrived.

“Most of them,” he nodded, a note of pride in his voice. “Some have been regrettably lost to time and others could not be parted from their masters.”

“Where do you keep all of them?” I shook my head in wonder, without really thinking much of my question. “The physical pieces, that is.”

I was met with unexpected silence. Surprised, I turned my head to face him and found that his eyes were glittering strangely in the darkness. There was a fierce, _cunning_ expression on his face and my confidence abruptly wavered. Finally, his features smoothed back into that perfect Imperial mask, though what he offered as an answer, wasn’t.

“If you find out the answer to that question, Colonel, you’ll be a credit to your profession.”

I swallowed my mouthful and then cautiously asked, as several things rapidly fell into place:

“You told me in the Academy that you had been exiled from your homeworld. But...that’s not entirely true, is it?” I knew I was treading into dangerous territory, from the glimmer in his eyes, but I couldn’t help myself. “You’re still in contact with some part of it, aren’t you? _That's_ where you keep the originals, isn't it?”

The questions made sense to me - where else would he hide such precious artifacts? What other possible place existed in the galaxy that would prompt him to make such an enigmatic statement: " _If you find out the answer to that question, Colonel, you'll be a credit to your profession_." I watched his pale lips close over his forkful of food and I watched him chew slowly, deliberately. He had no intention of answering my question. A few more facts clicked into place.

“Governor Pryce called the Seventh Fleet out of the Unknown Regions,” my eyes grew a little wide. “You told me once, too, that that’s where you’re from, close to Wild Space.”

It would be the _perfect_ place for him to store what was precious to him. I just  _knew_ I was right. I was met with more silence, however. Finally, I set down my empty bowl carefully and crossed my arms over my chest, as I tilted my head to look up at  him. We studied each other for at least a full minute, before I sighed and relented.

“It’s none of my business. My apologies for prying, sir,” I turned my head away from him and reached for my half-finished bowl of meat for a distraction. “I am glad, however, that you’re on our side.”

“There is no other side I would choose,” he murmured, his voice almost a shade softer than usual, as if he were speaking to himself.

I glanced up and met his eyes; he hadn’t dropped his gaze from me. But, there were shadows on his face I’d never seen before. And again, I couldn’t stop myself…

“I’ve always wondered what motivates you,” I paused, to better chose my next words. “You are not a fanatic, like so many of your peers. Nor have you ever seemed particularly concerned with wealth or power - unless, of course, we were discussing _military_ power. And wealth,” I motioned toward the simple trays in front of us. “Simply seems to be a tool, to you - not a luxury, or a right of your rank.”

“Why did you join the Empire?” his question startled me and I met those strange eyes. “You told me once, in the Academy.”

“I joined for my parents, for my family, both biological and adopted,” I shrugged, the years I’d spent as a servant of the Empire made me a little unwilling to talk about my origins, even to Thrawn. “I’ve often thought it a miracle that _I_ survived the Separatists attack that killed my birth parents. Even more so that I was found so quickly by a Mirialan spacer who had just lost his daughter, and knew what it was like to lose a family right in front of him. I joined the Empire for _peace_.”

“Does that still motivate you? Peace?” his eyes were unblinking.

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice even softer than his.

“Even for all the corruption you’ve uncovered?”

I shrugged, still uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.

“I became a realist quite quickly, after graduation. It didn’t take me long to accept that there will _always_ be corruption where there is organization. That does not necessarily reflect on the Empire’s _intent_.”

He smiled softly, indulgently and titled his head slightly to the side as he looked down at me.

“Then you understand my own motivations,” he answer brought me up short. “I serve the Empire because it is the only way this galaxy will _survive_. And _when_ the galaxy starts to fall, it will start in the Unknown Regions and spread forward to the Core. My people will be among the first to fall.”

I gaped, stunned. My brain spun into overdrive.

“You’ve done all this,” I motioned vaguely toward his pristine uniform. “For _them_?”

His eyes glittered again.

“I am a warlord of the strongest military force in the known galaxy. Whether they know it or not, they are under my protection.”

There was a strange weight to that phrase: “ _under my protection_.” I considered him closely.

“That means much more to your culture, than to mine, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“And the rest of us?” I couldn’t help but quirk a smile at him. “Are we under your protection?”

“By extension,” he admitted, with a gracious nod of his head.

I fell silent and continued eating, mulling over this revelation as I did. He stood patiently, watching me, no doubt knowing that I’d have more questions for him as soon as I’d ordered my thoughts. So, there was no flicker of surprise when I abruptly lifted my head and demanded:

“ _When_ the galaxy falls? What does _that_ mean? Is there a threat we don’t know about?”

“There are many hostile things at the edge of the galaxy...and quite possibly, beyond it.. Threats to the Empire _and_ the Republic, in their many forms, have attacked from Wild Space throughout their history. The Zakuulians, who revealed themselves just after the Great Galactic War, are an excellent example of what can exist out there without our knowledge. And they wrought more devastation on the galaxy in five years, than the Republic or the Empire had managed in twenty,” Thrawn folded his arms, one above the other, across his chest. “The time is far past due for another such threat to emerge.”

I snorted, unconvinced. I knew him too well...although, the thought that he knew something the rest of us didn’t, chilled my blood. Not because it was Thrawn who knew it...but because I knew this history of which he spoke. It had been a terrible time for the galaxy - Republic and Empire, both.

“You’ve seen something, haven’t you?” I murmured uncomfortably; I searched his eyes for the truth and that was the only reason I saw his barely perceptible nod.

I shuddered.

“I am _truly_ glad you’re on our side,” I repeated, my mood suddenly grim; we fell silent for a few minutes more and then I added: “No wonder the Rebels vex you so.”

His eyes flashed, but he seemed as glad for the sudden change of topic as I was.

“They threaten the very safety of the galaxy and the _fools_ don’t even know it,” Thrawn’s tone conjured up images of frozen wastes. “The galaxy _must_ be united and the only power strong enough to see that through, exists in the Empire.”

“Could they not be reasoned with, if your knowledge was known?” I had always preferred finding the diplomatic route.

“Some, perhaps. Sympathizers, mostly, I suspect. But, these Rebels are _fanatics_ ,” there was just the barest hint of a hiss to his words and his anger on the matter brought me up short. “There is no reasoning with such beings, nor would they ever take the word of an enemy.”

“That is unfortunate,” I sighed; I knew exactly the kind of being he was describing and he was right.

There was, indeed, no compromise to be made with fanatics.

“There will always be those who resist authority,” Thrawn shrugged, the fury in his voice had faded, and only his eyes shone hotly with the force of his convictions. “That has always been the way of things. And it has always fallen to those of honor, to put them in their place.”

“Those like you?” I smiled faintly.

“They will not see me that way,” he shrugged in the manner of a man who lost no sleep over the opinion of others. “But, that is because they have no honor of their own.”

I shook my head and knew that my expression was, perhaps, a bit too fond. What a remarkable being the Empire had found. We were, indeed, fortunate to have him on our side.

“I know I have no place to say this, but your people were fools to let you go.”

“Preemptive strikes are anathema to our military philosophy. My tactics did not comply with that. They did what _they_ thought was right. I broke the rules, after all,” he, thankfully, didn’t seem to take slight to my unsolicited opinion. “I accepted the consequences of my actions even before they court martialed me.”

I lifted an eyebrow. So, I hadn’t been far off the mark - he had indeed had a military history before the Empire. I thought back to the Academy and mused. No wonder he’d been so good; in many ways, apparently, he’d had a head start on us. A _big_ head start.

“You had command, before you were exiled,” my conclusion was logical, based on what he had said, but it still surprised me; I thought of something, then, and winced on his behalf. “The Academy must have been awful,” I paused, then added hastily. “More so than it already was for you. At least, based on what I saw.”

“It was not pleasant,” he agreed. “But, it was necessary. And I found an excellent friend.”

He had picked up the wine bottle while he spoke and saluted me with it, before turning his attention to the cork.

“So, all this time...everything that you’ve been through, that you’ve accomplished,” I concluded thoughtfully, as the sound of the popping cork echoed slightly against the bare durasteel walls. “You’ve just been maneuvering the pieces for a preemptive strike.”

“It is what I do best,” his false humility was actually funny, given the circumstances.

So, I laughed. And shook my head in wonder.

“You are a master of the long game, my friend,” I accepted the half-filled cup he handed me and watched as he poured the fine green wine into his own. “Thank you for telling me all this.”

The edges of his lips twitched as he lifted his cup and we touched our rims together.

“You pried,” he glanced at me through lowered lashes as he lifted his cup to his lips.

I smiled at him sweetly.

“It’s what I do best.”

“Yes it is,” he smacked his lips thoughtfully and glanced down into his cup, as if judging its worth. “I’ve kept track of your military career. When you have a mind for answers, it’s much easier to just acquiesce.”

“Still, you didn’t need to tell me half of what you did,” I tasted my own wine, and found that it was delightfully sweet and just the slightest bit fizzy. “So, I’ll tell you what,” I took another sip and didn’t really think through what I was about to offer. “As friends… You let me pry. What would you like to know?”

I should have known better. He took me completely off guard.

“You’ve been very tense the last few days and rather terse. Why?”

Uh-oh.

“You are a relentless taskmaster, sir,” I hoped desperately that he’d fall for that. “I’m no longer used to being told how high to jump.”

“Hm. I would be more inclined to accept that as a complete answer, if you hadn’t shoved me half-dressed into a shower stall yesterday morning.”

Those crimson eyes were watching me closely. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze, so I took another sip of my drink - a _gulp_ , really.

“I didn’t _shove_ you,” I decided that maybe quibbling over semantics would save me.

Nope. Should have known better.

“True,” he conceded after a rather significant pause. “You’ve been very reluctant to touch me. Wrestling with you has been far less challenging than it was that first day.”

“Oh -” I lifted my hand as if to wave his words away, but he cut me off, his voice dangerously sharp.

“Don’t lie to me.”

I thought of that lieutenant he had summarily executed and hastily took another long swallow of my rapidly disappearing wine. I spent so long dithering that I didn’t realize that he had moved around the table, until I felt the heat radiating from his chest against my cheek. I whipped my head up to meet his - his eyes were blazing with a look I had never seen before. I swallowed an undignified squeak and took a hasty step backward.

He _just kept prowling forward_ . I practically stumbled over myself in retreat...until my back hit the bulkhead and I had nowhere else to go. He stopped just shy of our boots touching and the unusual warmth of his body enveloped me as firmly as if he’d put his arms around me and pushed me against his chest. His eyes flashed with something like anger...except _not_...and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his face.

Thrawn didn’t touch me, but his hands hovered along his thighs, instead of behind his back as he normally did. For some reason, that posture unsettled me further and I pressed my palms against the cold bulkhead in a futile attempt to widen the gap between us.

“Since _when_ ,” his words were unusually clipped. “Have you been afraid of me?”

I opened my mouth to contradict him, but I heard his warning in my head as clearly as if he had said it. “ _Don’t lie to me_.”

“You have _always_ stood your ground with me,” he filled in the silence for me. “Except for once.”

My stomach plummeted. Oh, so he remembered. _Of course_ he remembered.

“Right before graduation,” I muttered miserably, sensing that he expected me to finish his thought.

“You avoided me in exactly the same fashion then, as you have the last few days. Why is that, Karlyri?”

I couldn't suppress a shudder of emotion. Thrawn had not called me by my name _once_ , since I’d made that foolish move on him. Sometimes, he used my last name. More often, he used my rank. How could he do this to me?

“Admiral,” I tried to put distance between us by using _his_ rank. “I’ve never hid the fact that,” I licked my lips nervously - I had no choice but to tell the whole truth. “That I’ve always wanted you.”

“Except, apparently, you _have_ tried to hide that fact,” his eyes narrowed and I felt sweat break out along my high hairline. “If your desire hasn’t changed in thirty years.”

There was no point in trying to deny that it hadn’t. I just stared up at him and wished desperately that he’d just toss me out the nearest airlock and have done with it.

“I have a proposition for you,” he changed tracks so quickly that I almost didn’t keep up.

Thrawn spun around on his heel and stalked over toward the command console that dominated the fore portion of the room. Too dazed by the abrupt change in temperature around me - not to mention, the roil of emotions that suddenly turned my stomach sour - I just stared mutely at his broad back. He appeared to be punching in a code, then there was the soft hiss of a drawer opening, and he bent slightly to pick something up. Then he was making his way back to me and my gaze dropped, uncomprehending, toward the small chip clasped between the fingers of his right hand.

“Take this and read it. _Tonight_ ,” the look on his face was completely unreadable - it wasn’t quite his Imperial mask, but it wasn’t quite the expression of a friend, either. “And tell me in the morning what you make of it.”

“What does a chip have to do with this conversation?” I blurted out before thinking.

I decided that I wasn’t sorry for the abrupt question. It was no secret between the two of us, that the sudden twists of his thoughts often left me confused.

“It will, hopefully, conclude this matter between us, once and for all.”

My heart sank, but I had no choice. I took the data-chip from his hand and tried not to stammer when our fingers touched. Then, that was it. Summarily dismissed - the taste of emerald wine still lingering on my lips - I left him for the bitter sanctuary of my own quarters.

* * *

 

I did _not_ want to put that chip into my datapad. I did _not_ want to read whatever was on it. But, one did not _not_ disobey Grand Admiral Thrawn.

I sat down heavily on the edge of my bunk and let my shoulders slump forward in defeat as I switched my datapad on. A few moments later, the chip had been inserted, and the file saved on it, pulled up. The file itself was titled, simply, “Translation”, followed by three long words full of vowels, in a language I had never seen before. _His_ language, I knew. I opened it with a heavy sigh and started reading.

It was poetry. On one side of the screen, were flowing lines of that same vowel-laden language. Opposite it, a translation in Basic. It took me the first holo-page to figure out that it was _love_ poetry. Two holo-pages after that, I realized it was also _erotic_ poetry.

My cheeks began to exude enough heat to match Thrawn’s natural body temperature. The further into it I went, the more explicit it became. True, the words were pretty, and the stanzas were almost hypnotic in the way that they flowed one into another, and true it was _exquisite_ literature. But, there was no way to misinterpret what was being praised in so many words - a lover’s body and the emotions...the _desires_...that she stirred in the writer.

It also didn’t help that, because this was given to me by Thrawn, that I read each line in _his_ soft, precise voice. Flustered, I tried to skip ahead a few more holo-pages, with the vague thought that I’d just skim whatever was left - just enough to get the gist, so I didn’t make a total fool of myself in the morning. But, then...the _pictures_ started.

The first few I assumed to be part of the original text. That assumption was helped along by the images that followed them. The first set of images were more abstract - black lines in flowing curves that suggested the sensuous meeting of two bodies. The second set were... _not_ abstract. I couldn’t get past the first one.

It was a sketch - a very _good_ sketch - of a woman on her knees. Between her knees, on his back with one knee strategically raised behind her, was a man, his face obscured by her thighs. I thought my face would burn off at sight of the activity so blatantly drawn across the screen between my now-shaking hands.

 _Oh stars_.

There was faint shading along the lines of the man’s body - pale blue. Naturally, no surprise there, I suppose. The woman, however...as my eyes traveled up to consider her face, I realized that, like his, the details were sparse. In fact, the image ended abruptly above her nose, leaving only her open mouth and upturned chin to the viewer’s gaze. That wasn’t so unusual; so the artist had left the couples’ identity to the imagination of whoever studied them.

Except, he - the artist, that is, because it could have only been _one_ being and he was most certainly a _he_ \- hadn’t actually left any identity up to vague self-insertion. There were diamonds tattooed across the bridge of her nose, which stopped just short of connecting to an arrowed pattern of identical diamonds beneath where one eye would have been.

I dropped the datapad with a yelp and broke its screen. _Thrawn_ had drawn _us._

How the _hell_ was I supposed to look at him in the morning?

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, I could _not_ look him in the face. He knocked on my door at precisely 0445, as he had every morning that week and when I opened it, I could only bring my eyes up to the bottom of his throat. That throat, with its well-defined lines and blue skin, that held the secrets to that cool baritone voice. I resisted the urge to punch him there, the bastard.

We didn’t normally talk on our walk to the training room, but the silence had always been amiable. Not _this_ morning… We didn’t pass anyone else in the passageway, but I was fairly certain that if we had, they’d have been able to sense the tension between us. Or, at least, the tension that emanated from me to him - who knew if he had any tension at all over the matter.

He said nothing and I quietly _hated_ him for it, until he had grabbed the staff I had seen him wield that morning I had first arrived. It now felt like it had happened in another lifetime. He grabbed a second one and tossed it to me; I caught it with a barely suppressed snarl.

“What did you think?” he finally broke the silence, his tone so _kriffing_ conversational, as he held his staff out in front of him in a defensive position.

“I think you’re a bastard,” I didn’t care about technique - I lashed out at him with my own weapon and he parried the blow with nonchalant grace.

“I meant, what did you think of the reading? Not what you think of me,” he feigned a move to my left, then flipped the opposite end toward my unprotected right side at the last minute.

I ground my teeth at him and barely blocked the blow.

“I think you could have mentioned, somewhere in the last _however_ , that you were drawing dirty pictures of us.”

I swept the staff down toward his knees, but he sidestepped easily and made a soft scoffing sort of sound.

“Dirty? Those illustrations are hardly representative of the full extent of my thoughts. They’re quite mild, really.”

 _That_ made my mind blur over and my step falter. Thrawn, brilliant bastard that he was, took advantage of the situation and I didn’t notice until he’d brought his staff down against the back of my knees. I fell to the mat with a grunt, but recovered quickly enough to roll onto my back and lift my hands just in time to catch his weapon on its second downward stroke.

I pulled sharply to overbalance him and managed to flip him over my head and onto the mat at an angle to me. He recovered quickly and let go of his staff before I could use it against him any further. Then, before I could counter, he had his muscular arm wrapped around my neck.

“You bastard,” I repeated hotly, as I twisted a certain way in hopes of breaking his hold.

I didn’t, and he only tightened it. A burning mouth against my ear made me freeze. A tip of a tongue touched my skin and I couldn’t suppress a shudder. Teeth scraped against my lobe and I couldn’t stifle a cry.

“Thrawn!” I didn’t know if it was plea or a curse.

His response was to wrap one of his strong legs over my mine and press me even more firmly against his body. He was so _hot_ and I thought my skin would burn where his arms touched me.

“You’re not fighting any more,” his voice slithered sensuously around the shell of my ear.

His observation robbed me, suddenly, of my indignation. I felt my body sag against his, my muscles going slack as I just gave into the heat and the hardness wrapped around me. My hands had fallen against the arm he still had pressed against my throat and my fingers itched to trace the lines of definition that framed his forearm.

“Why should I?” I choked out, my body slowly catching fire.

Oh, _stars_. I was growing _wet_ , the black-and-white lines of my body rising above his, flashing through my mind. He had thought of _tasting_ me. The tip of the tongue against my ear turned into a slow, torturous lick.

“I thought you were angry with me,” Thrawn continued, that wicked voice of his doing even more damage to my reason than his tongue.

I gasped and couldn’t help a full-body spasm as he _bit_ down on my earlobe, and then sucked it roughly between his blunt teeth.

“I _am_ angry,” I managed to say, my own voice hoarse with a need I had denied for thirty years.

“Then _fight me_ ,” he hissed - _really_ hissed, that sibilant sound reverberating through my very bones.

He practically threw me away from him and rolled smoothly to his feet. Dazed, I was far slower in getting up, but once I was, he threw me my staff for a second time. We met with the sharp clash of metal against metal, as my lust slowly cleared and his eyes slowly smoldered.

We traded fast blows and the overwhelming energy of my lust transitioned back into anger. I was angry with him. Angry for refusing me so many years before. Angry for him for never telling me that he had changed his mind...or, even, that maybe he had lied in the first place. Angry at him for drawing such intimate pictures of us, without my knowledge or consent. Angry at him for harboring the kind of thoughts about me that would lead him to translate _erotic poetry_ and draw _erotic pictures_. Angry at him for _never saying a thrice-damned word_.

I landed a few blows - two sharp against his upper left thigh, and one right across his upper back. Anger made me sloppy, though, and it made my reactions slow. In retaliation for the crack across his back - which had clearly hurt, as the solid thwack of my staff landing hard across his muscles had been accompanied by another hiss - he overwhelmed my defense and herded me across the mat toward the bulkhead. I tried to lunge to the left, to get away from me, but in doing so, I left a good swath of my torso exposed. Stars exploded across my sight and breath exploded out of my lungs, as he used a swift spin to hurl his momentum into my chest. His staff cracked so hard against my body that I shouted in pain as my knees immediately buckled.

I didn’t make it to the floor. As quickly as he had struck, Thrawn dropped his staff and swooped in to catch me. I grabbed fistfulls of his sleeveless undershirt in an attempt to pull myself up again, but he did most of the work. Once my feet were beneath me again, I’d had enough time to start breathing again.

I did not, however, have enough time or wits to stop him from grabbing the sides of my face and forcefully tilting my face up toward his. I swear time stopped. All that mattered were the fierce fire in his eyes and the incredible heat of his palms against my skin.

“Tell me to stop,” the faintest thread of an accent hung off the syllables of his words; I felt my knees grow weak again.

I hadn’t heard that accent since the first year of the Academy. He’d worked tirelessly those first twelve months to eradicate it. But, apparently, place him in the right situation, with the right amount of stress…

I shook my head, my lips slightly parted as I pulled short, hard breaths in past the pain across my chest. If Thrawn stopped, it was going to be _his_ choice again, never _mine_.

His mouth _burned_ and I couldn’t help whimpering softly in the back of my throat. I had always vaguely imagined that Thrawn was as cool in kissing as he was in anything else. He was _not_ and the sudden knowledge was _glorious_. He was all biting teeth, unforgiving fingers along my jaw, hot breath, and molten tongue. Here was every hint of his inner passion, channeled unapologetically into my mouth. I _groaned_ , utterly abandoned to the sensations he was stoking rapidly to life, deep in my belly.

He stopped as suddenly as he had started. I nearly cried at the loss of him, of his flame and fury, as he withdrew his tongue and let go of my face. Thrawn bit down on my lip as he drew back, but even that contact was lost after a few seconds. Then he stepped back from me entirely and I had to fight my knees not to buckle. It was another challenge to open my eyes.

Once I did, however, I found him staring at me, his eyes flashing with what I could only interpret as triumph...and could only hope was desire. His chest was heaving, as if we’d been wrestling about on the mat, instead of standing still in the thrall of a single kiss. When he finally spoke, his accent had thickened ever so slightly more and his usual, almost-lazy softness, was _gone_.

“I think, perhaps, we should shower separately this morning.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. I just nodded my head, still stunned by his kiss.

“You are relieved of your duties for today, _Major_ ,” his teeth flashed, white and predatory.

“What?” I sputtered, instinctively alarmed by the dismissal.

His lips pulled further back in a smile that was practically primal.

“I would suggest you spend your time _sleeping._ ”

He stepped forward long enough to breathe his scorching words across the side of my neck.

“The appetites of my species are quite voracious. You’ll need your rest, because there will _be_ none after 1800.”

  
And then he was gone, leaving me to pick up our weapons and to collect what little of my sanity he’d left intact. My hands shook and my mouth burned, all the way back to my quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the "good stuff" will finally begin... Stay tuned!


	3. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emperor have mercy, these two fools love to talk and talk and talk!! Pleasedon'thurtme....

_“It is hard to contend against one's heart's desire; for whatever it wishes to have it buys at the cost of soul.”_

**Heraclitus**

* * *

  


Thrawn’s private command deck was dark when I stepped onto it at 1800, sharp. The only illumination came from a ring of holographic images that he had pulled up into a semi-circle around where he stood. He had his left arm across his chest, the elbow of his right propped up on it, and two knuckles pressed against his mouth. He didn’t stir until I was standing next to him and gaping up at the art that he was silently considering.

They were pictures _he_ had drawn, in the same style as the one I had seen on my datapad the night before. In fact, when my eye fell on the same suggestive sketch that had shocked me to my core, I realized that these must have been the others that followed it - the ones I hadn’t gotten to see, because I had broken my screen. My cheeks flamed as I considered each holograph in turn. They were, in an unexpected way, hypnotizing - all naked limbs, minimal colors, and clean lines.

I wanted to sputter and look away, but reminded myself just in time that the point to all of this was to finally _own_ my desire for Thrawn...and to accept his, in return. As a young woman, I’d tried to express my desire with a kiss. Now, it was Thrawn’s turn, to express his desire through art. I could do just as much damage as he did, so many years before, if I didn’t give this display the same gravatas I would give any other art he might (and had) shown me.

So, I stepped up beside him, put my hands behind my back, and _looked_. There were five in total. The first, I had already seen. The second, was of me on my hands and knees, with his strong body partially draped over my back, one of his hands between my legs, the other braced against my shoulder. In the third, I was on my knees in front of him - only his legs and lower torso were drawn, but it was clear that he was sitting down, while my unbound hair obscured my face. The fourth was perhaps the “softest” of the ones displayed - we were facing each other on our sides, our legs and arms entwined, his face buried in my neck and mine was slack with pleasure.

These three, new pictures were of the same style as the first - sparse lines, minimal details, and hidden (or half-drawn) faces. The fifth one, however, was rich in its detail. He was sitting and I was on my knees, straddling his lap, my back to his chest. He was biting my shoulder, while one hand covered my right breast and his other hand was fisted in my hair, close to my scalp. My eyes were closed and my mouth open, clearly lost in the throes of passion. There were a few details that surprised me, like the way his hair was tousled and how half of it fell into his eyes; I had never seen, or thought _of_ , Thrawn with a single strand of his hair out of place. A closer inspection of the hand at my breast revealed that he wasn’t cupping it, but was pinching, or tugging, my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. And between my legs...I had to fight to keep my eyes there, and to keep a blush from spreading across my cheeks. Between my legs was _him_ , not all of him inside of me, as I was apparently portrayed as being in the middle of a thrust - either up or down was anyone’s guess but his.

In this picture, there was no way to mistake that it was _us_. Thrawn had shown our faces in clear detail; our bodies, too, from the crown of our heads to our knees. The explicitness of the picture stirred something deep inside of me that I recognized only too well as _want_.

“Imagine, for a moment, that you did _not_ know the artist,” Thrawn’s quiet voice jolted me out of my perusal and I jumped a little; if he noticed, he graciously ignored my reaction. “What would you conclude of him, based on these drawings?”

I knew immediately what he was asking. He wanted me to analyze his drawings in the same way that he analyzed alien art for clues about their psychology. I finally blushed; art, especially _this_ kind of art, was an intimate glimpse into the heart and soul of the being who created it. There were few things in the galaxy as precious, as _personal_ as art. He was asking me to analyze his _mind_ , his _intent_ , his _desires_ , his _heart_.

I took a deep breath. I could do this.

“I would begin by concluding that he isn’t afraid of sexual expression,” we both kept our gazes forward, but I knew that Thrawn was looking at me obliquely. “He doesn’t seem to have any aversion to displaying his body, which many others might hesitate at. Nor, does he seem to have any aversion to portraying the female body. The faces are hidden in four of them...but never any part of the body that would otherwise show in those,” I faltered over the word and pushed it, reluctant, between my lips: “Positions,” I paused, before continuing. “The last picture is particularly explicit. The artist doesn’t associate shame with his desires.”

“Very good,” Thrawn murmured when I stopped. “Continue.”

I searched for more clues and some of my own shame started to dissipate, as I looked at the pictures as more of a private confession, and less of a lewd display.

“The artist always draws the woman on her knees,” I eyed the semi-circle critically. “Except for in the fourth picture, that is.”

I stopped to ponder what might be the significance of that; Thrawn had made a low, pleased sort of sound in the back of his throat, so I knew I had picked up on a clue. I worried my lip between my teeth for a moment and narrowed my eyes, as if that would help me concentrate on an answer.

“Control,” I drew the word out slowly. “On her knees, the woman has some measure of control. More control, in any event, than she would on her back. And even when she’s in a submissive position,” I pointed to the third drawing. “The man is seated, which suggests a certain willingness to give up _his_ control, or at least, to curb it so that he and his partner are on a more egalitarian level,” I tilted my head as the ramifications became clear. “The artist desires an equal.”

“Good,” the praise made me flush.

My eyes searched for more clues that I could extract from the drawings arranged in front of us. There was at least one other major observation left to be made…

“The artist has never _been_ with the woman in the drawings, though he knows her face,” I pointed at the tattoos etched across the woman’s nose in each one. “Her facial tattoos are consistent, from picture to picture. But, the others…” I smiled, the realization actually rather endearing. “He knows enough of her culture to know that she would have more tattoos, but he’s never seen them. So, he changes them from picture to picture,” I pointed to each drawing in turn. “The tattoos on her arms and legs are arranged in different patterns in each one. And in some, she has tattoos on her torso,” I motioned toward the first and fourth one. “And in the others, she doesn’t,” my hand waved toward the second, third, and fifth hologram.

“And what does all that say about the artist?” Thrawn prompted, almost gently.

“I guess it means…” I felt like I was reaching, now. “That he’s curious,” I paused, then continued slowly, thoughtfully. “And he’s been curious for some time. I don’t imagine these pictures were all drawn on the same day. The first four may have been drawn close together, but the fifth one suggests that there’s been some time that’s passed between it and the first one. This isn’t a woman with whom the artist has a passing fancy…”

I faltered, the words sinking in. I finally whirled toward Thrawn and demanded:

“How long _have_ you felt this way about me?”

“About five years, I’d say,” he finally turned his crimson gaze toward me and we considered each other soberly. “That’s about the time I started to translate the poetry I gave you to read. You kept coming to mind as I worked,” he gestured forward. “The pictures soon followed. I would draw a new one after each time we met, for this function or that.”

I counted in my head. We had only crossed paths four times in the last five years. So, that meant…

“You’ve drawn the fifth one since I’ve been here, haven’t you?” I turned to him, not quite sure if I was shocked, or flattered. “When do you find the time?” I laughed a little bit.

“Space can be very boring, even for admirals,” he replied in that droll tone that I had long ago learned to associate with his humor.

I _highly_ doubted that with recent events, with the Rebels and the spy in Thrawn’s ranks, that the good admiral had been anywhere _close_ to “bored”. But...I didn’t have half the intellect that he possessed; I was quite smart in my own right, though, and my mind hardly ever stopped analyzing, thinking, and synthesizing. He was a _genius_ , so I imagined that his mind never stopped needing new stimuli in order to stay sharp, or engaged. Drawing was, apparently, one of the ways he kept his mind active while he was waiting for other schemes, eventualities, and crises to unfold. After all, there was only so many hours in a day that one could actively command, before becoming an insufferable micromanager.

Thrawn _detested_ micromanagers. He would never suffer such a shortcoming in himself.

“So...anything else I should figure out?” I turned back to the hologram drawings hovering in the air in front of us.

“I think you hit on the most salient points,” Thrawn, however, turned toward _me_ ; I felt my breath hitch beneath his consideration.

He reached for me, then, and nerves made me a fool. Just as his hands began to skim up the line of my arms, I nervously blurted out:

“What made you change your mind?”

“What do you mean?” his hands fell still on my biceps.

“I mean…” I stuttered, stopped, and tried my best to start again. “When you rebuffed me at the Academy, I thought it was because you didn’t find me attractive, because you didn’t want me. I...I also thought it was because you misunderstood the source of my attraction to you. That...you thought I was like those civilian girls who just wanted to say they’d slept with the only alien of his kind in the Empire.”

There was a long pause and I was starting to shiver in the cold air, when he finally answered.

“I _did_ think, at the time, that you were ‘like those civilian girls’. I was a fool, of course. It only took me a year or two to realize _that_. I justified my decision to turn you down, however, with the thought that your first sexual encounter should, by all rights, have been with a man of your own species. Or, at least, with a species that you knew.”

“You...thought you were too...alien for me?” I was struggling to understand just what he was implying.

“That’s one way of putting it,” there was humor in his voice and I got up the courage to look up at him. “After all these years, I no longer have the clarity necessary to explain the decisions I made as a twenty-six-year-old man.”

“You sure you even had any clarity to begin with?” I couldn’t help myself; thankfully, he laughed.

“Most likely not, truth be told. I think, in the end, I was just afraid.”

I _stared_ at him. _Thrawn_? _Afraid_? He read my thoughts in my eyes and smiled faintly.

“All mortal beings fear, Karlyri. The only thing that changes is how that fear is expressed and what stimuli trigger it. And…” he paused for a moment, his gaze intense. “You were just as alien to me as I was to you, even after those four years together. I had my own prejudices to sort out; it was hard for me, at the time, to think that you did not harbor your own toward me.”

“So, what made you change your mind?” I repeated softly.

“The usual - time and age,” he admitted. “The fact that, even after I tried to push you away, you kept trying to keep our friendship alive. I kept informed on your career and as the years have gone by, I’ve found myself admiring your dedication to the Empire and your ability to command. I found myself _proud_ of your many accomplishments and of your reputation among our peers.”

I found myself blushing again beneath his praise. Thrawn did not say such things - to _anyone_ \- frivolously.

“And you have, if I may say so, matured well,” he lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles lightly across my cheek; I found myself leaning into his touch, and not caring one whit that I did. “You are a striking woman, Lyri.”

The use of my nickname - the one _he_ had given me, that very first week at the Academy - undid me. I threw my arms around his neck impulsively, and lifted my face up to his for a kiss. He surprised me, though, and very nearly ruined the mood.

“There was also the matter of your court martial,” he murmured against my lips; I pulled back abruptly.

“What would that have to do with anything?” I fought the urge to let go of him entirely. _Hear him out_ , I told myself sternly; Thrawn was as given to petty verbal blows as he was to praise.

“The news of that made me realize that when you desire a man, you desire him for who he is. Not for the eroticism of his differences,” Thrawn considered me closely and, for the first time that night, I truly had difficulty returning his gaze. “You were court martialed for having an alien lover, yes?”

“A Mirialan,” I muttered to his white-clad chest.

“Conduct unbecoming an Imperial officer,” Thrawn’s voice as as low, as soft, as mine. “That was the charge, yes?”

“The Imperial military forbids _relations_ between its members and aliens,” I nodded miserably.

That court martial had been the lowest point of my career. It had taken me the last eight years to recover my career from its aftermath. But, I had never regretted the choice I had made, that lead to me being harshly judged by a panel of my superiors. I had regretted many men I had taken to my bed. But, never Halsuu.

“Even when that alien is one of their own,” it was a statement, not a question; I nodded again.

Halsuu had been a TIE fighter pilot - one of the exceedingly _rare_ alien officers in the Imperial military. Besides Thrawn, there was perhaps a handful. Of them all, only _he_ had ever risen above the rank of a major (Army) or a lieutenant commander (Navy). Halsuu, however, had been undaunted by those odds and it was that unfailing optimism in the face of institutionalized prejudice, that had first attracted me to him. He, in turn, had been _fascinated_ by a human who proudly wore Mirialan tattoos on her face - a human _Imperial_ , no less. We had met during one of my investigations at the time; he had been the only male officer I had ever encountered (before _or_ after), who desired me for who I was. Not for what he could gain from me, not for any prestige or power. In the course of our three year affair, I had come to _love_ him.

“You were unrepentant for your choice,” Thrawn’s voice was now fond and I finally dared to look up at him again. “And I found that I was _jealous_ of your Mirialan lover. That _he_ should be the source of such conviction, and not _me._ ”

I didn’t have a damn thing to say to that. So, I just kept staring up into those brilliant red eyes.

“I could not decide, afterwards,” Thrawn’s tone shifted subtly and I realized, with considerable gratitude, that he was starting to change the subject. “If you added a new tattoo in defiance of your court martial, or if you burned one.”

Mirialans would add tattoos with each achievement they gained, or for any action of which they were particularly proud. Conversely, they would burn “off” a tattoo for any dishonorable action they might have made. The idea, was that for each dishonorable act, an honorable one was forfeit.

I saw the opening that Thrawn was trying to maneuver us toward and I offered him a small smile.

“I could settle that question for you here and now,” I offered coyly; his nostrils flared wide.

Yes, then. Yes, _please_.

I stepped out of the comfort of his arms and let my hands fall onto my belt. I gazed up at him, suddenly shy, and suddenly aware of how I had never learned my lesson. I had taken Halsuu as a lover without fear of reprisal. I would take Thrawn with the same “unrepentant” attitude. The only difference between then and now, really, was their rank.

Would anyone _dare_ challenge a lover of Grand Admiral Thrawn? If they court martialed me, they would have to court martial _him_. Somehow, I very much doubted _that_ would ever happen. And...even if it would...that wouldn’t change my choice. I had wanted him for so long...and now, _he_ wanted me. There was no force, no threat in the galaxy that could alter our actions tonight.

Thrawn didn’t blink _once_ , as I pulled off my belt...then my black uniform jacket…then my boots and socks. Nor, did he move a single muscle, as my hands hovered, for a just a moment of uncertainty, in front of the fastenings of my pants. Then, those too were gone, and I stood in front of Grand Admiral Thrawn - my friend and the last lover I ever hoped to have - in nothing more than a white undershirt and pale blue panties. I dipped my head and ran a hand across the diamond pattern that circled the top of my left thigh; I didn’t need to look, to know that his eyes followed every move.

“I _added_ a tattoo,” I did look up at him with that, coyly, through my lashes. “I did nothing dishonorable.”

Thrawn moved with a preternatural speed. Before I could even _think_ , he had closed the distance between us, wrapped his arms around my waist, cupped my ass in his large hands, and hoisted me off the floor and up against his chest. Two more steps, and he deposited me on top of his war room table and wedged himself between my knees. His hand fell to my thigh and his fingers traced the pattern with fingertips that were rough; as I shivered beneath his touch, I absently recalled that I had very rarely, if ever, seen him wear gloves.

  
His hot mouth found mine and I knew then that I would never - _could_ never - give him up.  Thrawn was all I wanted...all I had _ever_ truly wanted. The thought broke the last of my reluctance and I returned his kiss with all the conviction, with all the _certainty_ , that I possessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR these two idiots will start getting hot and heavy in the next installment! I've given them no choice...and seriously...I'm pretty damn sure they've run out of shit to yammer on about...


	4. Culmination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Our two idiots get their act together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to aural_fixation. You'll see why. ;-)

_“There is one quality which one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it.”_

**Napoleon Hill**

* * *

  

I was surprised to discover how _expressive_ Thrawn was; no sooner had our tongues touched, than he was moaning into my mouth. I was hardly any more reserved, as I whimpered against the hot, slick slide that passed between my lips. He was so _warm_ ; just the lingering touch of his hand against my thigh made me feel as if I’d go up in flames.

My bare thighs slid against the rough cloth of his white jodhpurs and I shivered at the texture. I pressed myself willingly against his torso; so much so, that his belt buckle bit into my belly and his rank insignia was sure to leave indentations against the soft swell of a breast. Our bodies pushed and pulled ever so subtly against each other, as our kiss deepened even further. His hands found their way beneath the back of my undershirt and the feel of his skin against mine sent a lick of fire up my spine. I curled my arms around his neck and carded the fingers of one hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. It was thick and soft, quite possibly the softest part of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Emperor knew that the space between his thighs wasn’t.

I rocked my hips against his, eager for the feel of his hardness against my overheating core. The motion seemed to rob him momentarily of breath and he hissed into my mouth. It was different than when he was angry - it was slower and deeper now, a gentle slithering sound that poured down my throat and reverberated against my ribs. My body _surged_ against his at the sound, the _feel_ , of it. _Stars_ , I could have cared less about foreplay - I just wanted Thrawn to _claim_ me. I wanted to claim _him_.

Our lips finally parted, though barely; our gazes met through heavy-lidded lashes. He muttered something in a language that sounded very much like it had looked in that book of poetry - full of vowels and incomprehensibly lyrical.

“What did you say?” I whispered, as there was no need to speak any louder in the narrow space between us.

“There’s no direct translation,” his voice was rough and that smooth polish of his words was gone, replaced by that accent from so long ago. “But, its closest meaning in Basic would be _fuck me_.”

“Oh, _stars_ ,” I breathed; he tried to pull his face back a little further and I clutched at the back of his neck until he stopped.

There was a question in his eyes, in the tilt of a dark-blue eyebrow above them. I giggled, as I leaned back in toward his mouth.

“I’ve never heard you swear.”

“Actually, you _have_ ,” Thrawn replied through the playful nips I peppered along the sharp angle of his jaw. “Quite frequently,” he paused to groan, when I dropped my mouth a little lower and found his pulse. “Just not in Basic.”

“Please feel free to swear as much as you’d like in Basic,” I paused and laved my tongue across the skin just above the high collar of his uniform jacket. “I swear I’ll never tell another soul what a sinful mouth their Grand Admiral has.”

“Swearing is hardly sinful,” he drawled, as that mouth of his sought out the curve of my left ear. “Sinful would be telling you about how I’d like nothing better than to flip you onto your stomach over this table and -”

I couldn’t wait for him to finish. I squirmed against him and pleaded:

“Please. _Do it_.”

He clicked his tongue at me and bit at my ear.

“You deserve better than a quick _rut_ our first time.”

“Then _take me to bed_ , Thrawn,” I wasn’t even really sure what it was I was asking for - words just came tumbling out of my mouth in a desperate, needy rush.

I wanted him _in_ me. I wanted his mouth _on_ me. I wanted to _taste_ him. I wanted to _wreck_ him.

The next thing I knew, I was in his arms, like a Corellian bride who was being carried over her husband’s threshold. I couldn’t help a surprised squeak, which was quickly followed by a soft moan as I realized how _easily_ he held my weight. Then we were through the door at the far left side of his command deck and I was just able to register a smaller, just-as-dimly-lit room, before I was dropped onto a narrow bed. I landed in a sprawl and then stayed that way, as I looked up into his fierce, triumphant face. I felt the loss of contact with his body like a physical blow and I panted hard with the need to feel him again.

“Thrawn,” I whimpered and reached for him.

“Give me just a moment, Lyri,” his words soothed, but his mouth curled in a smug smile. “Allow me to level the playing field a bit, first.”

My brains were scrambled from his kiss, so I could only shake my head in wordless confusion. But, I followed his hands - wishing all the while that they were _on me_ \- and realized soon enough what he meant. He pulled his jacket off and stepped away from the edge of the bed just long enough to drape it carefully over the back of the room’s only chair. He stayed there, about two arm’s lengths away from me, and used the edge of the small computer console in front of the chair to balance himself as he pulled off his tall, perfectly-polished boots and then his equally long socks. I sat up eagerly as he crossed back over to me; he pulled at his white undershirt as he came and tossed it carelessly to the deck just as he reached the edge of the bed.

I wanted to meet him, there at the edge, but the view of his muscular torso shifting and flexing in the low light kept me transfixed where I was. I had been too embarrassed to appreciate his body earlier on in the week, during those strip-tease walks back to the training room showers. That embarrassment was gone now, however, and I took in my fill of him.

One of Thrawn’s most defining physical traits was the impressive width of his shoulders - a width that was always further exaggerated by how perfectly straight he kept his back, which in turn always pushed his chest out. Some men lost a measure of their size without clothes, but not Thrawn. Even without those gold epaulets and starched jacket shoulders, he was an impressive sight. Thick shoulders, thick arms, thick chest...Thrawn’s hours burning off “extra” energy in the training room had exquisite results. His chest tapered into a slightly slimmer waist that was defined by a taunt, ridged stomach. And every inch of his pale blue skin was hairless - perfect for kissing and licking, as I so desired.

I eyed the waist of his jodhpurs; I was greedy and what was already on display wasn’t enough. I scrambled up to my knees and leaned forward, one hand braced for balance on the black comforter beneath me. I paused just before hooking the fingers of my left hand between the band and his waist, and glanced up for permission.

“My dear, behind _this_ door, you never have to ask if you may undress me,” something deep in his gaze twinkled playfully and I sighed with contentment.

I undid the row of clasps that ran directly down the center of his pants - that ran directly down the length of his _erection_. By the time I got to the bottom, my hands were shaking slightly. There was a part of me that couldn’t believe that I was running my fingertips against the clothed, hot curve of _Thrawn’s_ _cock_. I had certainly undone my fair share of pants, but I couldn’t remember a single time, even with Halsuu, where the act left me so breathless and shaking.

I suppose it didn’t help, either, that while I busied myself with his opening his pants, Thrawn was slowly carding his fingers through my hair and along my scalp. He seemed to enjoy the texture against his skin; _I_ was enjoying the delicious shivers he sent through my body each time his blunt fingernails scraped against me.

His pants undone - and the opening filled with an impressive bulge - I decided to play a little more boldly and leaned even closer toward his body. When my lips brushed against the top ridge of his stomach, Thrawn’s breath finally hitched and his fingers curled into a reflexive fist in my hair. I moaned softly at the slight tug at the nape of my neck. I also grabbed a hold of his narrow hips to steady myself as I mouthed my way up to the center of his chest.

Once there, I finally let my tongue flatten in an experimental stripe across his skin, toward his right nipple. He tasted...different. That surprised me a bit, so I licked along the curve of his pectoral a few times to see what I made of it. He tasted like snow and faintly of earth, like mineral water. In fact, as I returned to the center of his chest and rubbed my nose briefly there, I thought he smelled a bit like a hot spring - a mixture of ice and heated rock. I decided rather quickly, that I _liked_ the smell, the taste, of him. I wanted to lick every _inch_ of him.

He moaned appreciatively above me as I explored the taste and texture of his left pectoral. His grip slowly loosened at the back of my neck and then I was abruptly interrupted as he pulled the back of my white undershirt up and over my head. That fell to the deck to join his and I was moving to resume my appreciation of his chest, when I felt his fingers plucking at the closure of my bra. When I felt it finally open, I lifted my mouth away from him and slowly sat up. Our eyes met and I dropped my hands from his hips as he slid the straps down my arms. Once those straps hit my elbows, I took over and reached between us, to pull it away from me and to throw on top of our undershirts. I watched his eyes and inwardly preened when an expression of fierce hunger flashed across his face.

Thrawn finally moved, his intent to push me back on the mattress and to join me there quite clear. I let him, but only after I had grabbed fistfuls of his pants on either side of his hips and yanked them down. He stopped and huffed out a short laugh as his feet were momentarily tangled.

“If you wished me to stop, you could just say so,” he teased lightly as he stepped out of his pant legs and then bent over to fish them off the deck.

“Never,” my voice was raw and husky with want.

He glanced up at me while he was still bending over and his expression was predatory. The look sent a thrill of desire through my core and I felt the juncture of my thighs turn wet. Oh, we _needed to get on with this_.

But, Thrawn was, if anything, fastidious. He made a show - which was just absolutely unnecessary, I thought, and totally designed to stir my frustration - of folding his pants neatly and draping them over his hung jacket. He lingered just a moment too long and I couldn’t help a low growl of impatience. His broad shoulders shook then in silent laughter and when he turned around, a smile was pulling lightly at the corners of his pale pink lips. We considered each other for a moment across the space between us…

And then he pushed down his tight, regulation white shorts and I was greeted with the galaxy’s rarest work of art: Grand Admiral Thrawn in all his naked, thickly-chiseled glory. He could have been a classical Nabooian sculpture carved from that world’s coveted sapphire marble. The sight of him made me sit back on my heels and stare, my lips slightly parted in awe.

“You’re magnificent, you know that?” I sighed over the words as my gaze fell down his chest, to his thighs.

 _Magnificent_ was the only word that could possibly come close, but as I eyed his strong thighs and the heavy cock jutting proudly out between them, I couldn’t help think that it was also a gross understatement. I liked to think that I had attracted a wide variety of handsome men to my bed over the years, but Thrawn was in a class of his own.

“I dare say the same of you,” he murmured appreciatively as he finally started to prowl back toward the bed.

I blushed. I wasn’t usually body conscious, but all his hardness made me realize just how long ago my Academy days were. I could still pass my bi-annual physical fitness test without excessive effort on my part, but transitioning from field work as an agent, to the bureaucratic administration of a director, had made me softer than I had been in my younger years. Age didn’t aid in the struggle, either. My stomach was _definitely_ not ridged, my thighs would rub themselves raw without cloth between them, and my breasts had lost ground to gravity every year after thirty.

Thrawn, as capable as he was of reading faces and body language, knew immediately what I was thinking.

“You still wear your uniform well,” he brushed his knuckles against the curve of one breast as he slid a knee up on the bed beside me. “And age changes us all.”

I laughed, perhaps a bit bitterly.

“You still look like you were carved out of sapphire marble,” I shot him a sardonic look as he settled himself beside me on his knees.

I then leaned forward and made a show of glancing around him, though the lingering of my eyes on his body wasn’t even remotely forced.

“And your ass looks exactly the same as it did in the Academy,” I ran a hand boldly down the curve of one cheek and then squeezed playfully as I looked over and up at him.

He lifted an eyebrow as if to ask how the hell I knew to even say such a thing. I had to laugh, though my hand still lingered greedily against his burning skin.

“I was always yelling at you to shut your shower curtain,” I flashed him my teeth. “Don’t think for a second, though, that I didn’t appreciate the view.”

He snorted, the sound full of good-humor.

“My _ass_ aside, I assure you that age shows itself quite readily in my species' skin,” he held out a freckled arm to me and I inspected it silently. “Our skin mottles as we grow older. The hue also either darkens or lessens, depending on the individual.”

I now saw that what I had assumed were freckles, were indeed darker blemishes. The tone of his color changed between the top and bottom of his arms as well. Beneath was that clearer blue I now recalled from our younger years; above was a subtly different shade that I would have described more as “dusky” than “dark”.

“And, I’m sure you’ve noticed that my hair is not as uniform a color as it once was,” he drew my gaze up again and I considered that thick, luxurious hair that was now slightly - delectably - ruffled from my fingers.

I _had_ noticed, but it was always different when you noticed something in passing and when it was specifically pointed out to you. Along the sides of his head, there were streaks of pale blue that hadn’t been there when we were young. I smiled fondly at what apparently passed for graying hair within his species.

“Fair enough,” I reached for him, ready to pick up where we had left off to discuss our changing bodies. “The magnificent Thrawn is not so immortal after all.”

“No, indeed,” he shook his head with an indulgent smile.

We closed the gap between us, then. I slid my arms beneath his and pressed my body against his incredible warmth. My head fit perfectly in the space between his jaw and his shoulder; for a moment, I just held him like that, as his hands mapped the muscles of my back. It was impossible to stay still, however; before long I had started to nip along the long line of his neck.

A part of my brain had already started to register that nipping at his skin excited him, when I finally, fully, _bit_ down on the juncture of his shoulder and throat. The high collar of his uniform would hide any indiscretion and I was gripped with the sudden _need_ to mark him. I didn’t get to linger long enough to form a bruise, though. Within _seconds_ of feeling my teeth take hold of him, he had tightened a fist in my hair and hissed loudly as he pulled me back.

My eyes went wide. His went feral. He kept pulling me back by my hair until my back bowed and my breasts jutted proudly in the space between us. His free hand snapped up to cover my right breast and his fingers wasted no time in pinching, tugging, and twisting my nipple. I cried out and arched my back even further of my own accord. Another hiss and then he was bending forward over me, his hand kneading my breast between us, and his teeth nipping hard along the line of my right shoulder.

So, biting was a _thing_. Apparently.

He bit my shoulder. Sucked at the front of my throat. Licked the curve of my jaw. I could only bend to his desires and wantonly push my breast further into the palm of his hand. Some dim part of my brain registered pain, as the raised welt from our training duel prickled and stung beneath the attention he lavished on my chest. Mostly, my brain simply translated that pain into a hard, breath-taking point of pleasure.

“Thrawn…” I moaned as he finally let go of my hair and bent further down himself, to take my left nipple into his mouth.

I _fell_ into a solar system of sensation, full of slick tongue, hot breath, and hard teeth. His hands fell to grab my hips and hold me close against him. His cock twitched against my stomach, but I hardly noticed, what with the attention he was giving to my chest. He alternated artfully between my right and my left breast; in minutes, the pain and pleasure had all blurred together to the point where I could no longer differentiate which breast, which nipple, fell prey to his hunger. I could only cling to his shoulders and cry out with the pleasure that was building between my legs.

I didn’t even realize that he had wedged a knee between mine. Nor did I realize that I was rubbing myself against his thigh, covering his skin with slick desire and repeatedly pushing my swollen clit over a hard ridge of muscle.

He sucked particularly hard on one nipple and I snapped. I arched hard against him, startled by the orgasm that rolled sharply through me. It was abrupt, just long enough to leave me breathless. But, it left me a wanton _mess_ in his arms.

“I...I…” I struggled to form words, as he finally lifted his head and smirked - _smirked_ , the insufferable bastard - at me. “I...never…”

“As much as I would like to take credit for that,” that self-satisfied smile grew toothier. “I must point out that you did most of the work.”

“Wha-?” I shook my head, my reason still hazy with pleasure.

He jiggled his leg and pushed his thigh up against my now over-stimulated core. I squeaked and glanced down in something almost like embarrassment. I could feel my cheeks redden when I saw how thoroughly I had covered his skin with my release.

“Oh, stars,” I groaned and fell forward to hide my face in his shoulder. “I _humped_ you.”

His response was a genuine, heart-felt laugh. I turned my head just a tad, so I could peer up at his face with one eye. I had only heard him show such mirth on a handful of occasions, all during our Academy years. The stoic Imperial officer Thrawn had never laughed, that I knew. The sexually aroused and private Thrawn, however...the _man_ alone with a woman...did. It pleased me, inordinately so, to think that _I_ had brought out this deeply personal part of him.

“And I’ve bruised your nipples and most of your breasts,” he rubbed his gaunt cheek over my hair. “I hardly think that one action is superior to another.”

“You saying anything goes?” I pressed a hand against his chest, with the errant thought that I’d like to repay the favor there.

“Indeed,” his answer was a purr.

It surprised me, which made me make the mistake of not taking him seriously.

“Anything goes, like...tie me to the bed and have your way with me?” I tried to pull the most far-fetched fantasy out of my mind and settled instead for something far less revealing.

“That could certainly be arranged.”

I knew that voice. That was Thrawn’s soft, dangerous voice - the one that he used when he was scheming. I should have stopped. I didn’t.

“How about…” my breath hitched as he began to slide a hand slowly down my spine. “Bringing me just to the edge of an orgasm and then denying it until it suits you?”

“An excellent suggestion.”

I had buried my face in his neck again, out of embarrassment, but I could hear the smile in his voice. That hand of his smoothed over the curve of one cheek.

“Or…” a thought struck me and my breath stopped at the very idea of it.

“Or…?” he prompted slyly, his hand slipping lower still.

“Or...letting me tie _you_ up and...and…” I stumbled over the words, even as they brought a rush of heat to my body. “And letting me whip you?”

He liked pain. My exploratory nips and the reaction to my one good bite of him confirmed that. Plus, I _had_ seen the way his eyes flashed when I’d hit him in the training room the day before. I now knew what to call the strange look that had spasmed across his face. It was _pleasure_.

Plus...Halsuu had often knelt at my feet, hands knit together behind his neck, as I took a flogger to his back. We’d both enjoyed it. Consequently, I now had some idea of what to look for, to identify that sort of desire in a man. It was just a suspicion, pieced subconsciously together over the last few days in the training room, and the reaction to biting from earlier, but…

Oh, stars. I hoped I wasn’t wrong.

“Lyri, you may do whatever you _like_ to me,” Thrawn promised and there was a growl to his words that completely undid his usual veneer of civility. “But, I must confess, I do have a certain weakness for a strong woman who is willing to do _that_.”

“Oh…” relief flooded through me and out my mouth, across his skin.

His fingers - his palm still cupping the the partial curve of my ass - found their mark and pressed teasingly against me. I gasped and jumped, which rubbed my whole body against his. I felt his cock twitch and a low rumble vibrate through his chest.

“So, you like to dominate _and_ be dominated,” Thrawn whispered into my ear, even as he kept pressing a finger steadily against my tight entrance.

“I-I…” words were starting to fail me; I hiccuped a little bit in surprise as I finally felt him slide the tip of his finger into me. “I l-like to be dominated. I-I’m not sure…” I drew the last word out into something of a whine as I felt his first knuckle push through my ring of muscle. “I-If I’d say I like to dominate. I-I do like d-dealing p-pain.”

“There’s an aspect of dominance inherent in sadism,” he _was so kriffing conversational_.

Another knuckle slid in and I’d started to pant heavily, my mouth open and wet against his throat.

“But, I see what you might mean. You wouldn’t wish to play the part past disciplinarian.”

“R-right,” I was starting to squirm, caught between his cock and his hand, and beginning to feel as if I was catching fire.

“You would much rather _I_ play the largely dominant role,” he began to thrust, as if to emphasis his statement.

“ _Please_ ,” I begged shamelessly as I started to rock against his hips. “Yes!”

“Good to know,” he murmured.

And then he pushed me down with his body, his hand still cupped against my cheek, his finger still inside of me.

He had apparently decided on his next target. I had barely managed to reconcile the fact that I was on my back, when I felt his mouth _slide_ over my mons pubis.

“Thrawn…” I whimpered, helpless.

He kept thrusting with his finger, while nosing apart my folds. His tongue slid through them, tasting me in one long lick from my hood to my vaginal opening. He paused to tease me there for a moment, with a leisurely thrust of his tongue into me. His hand and his chin were so close together, that I vaguely wondered how he managed to move them so masterfully in counter with one another. He lapped at my opening a few more times and then made his way back up with little, teasing licks along the way. When he closed his mouth around my clit, my hips came off the bed, accompanied by a low, slow moan.

Thrawn ate me out without a single hint of impatience or obligation. In fact, the longer he stayed between my legs, the more frequently he would leave my clit to drag his tongue down the length of my cunt, to lap at my desire as if he were _tasting it_ , as if he were _savoring it_. The thought that he was _satiating_ a need of his own brought me far too swiftly to the edge of another orgasm. He seemed to sense this and backed off a bit, to nibble at my lips and to kiss the inside of my thigh.

“ _Kriff_ , Thrawn,” my chest heaved above him and I was barely able to pull myself onto my elbows long enough to gaze down at him. “Please…!”

His only response was to smirk up at me as he pushed a _second_ finger into me. An inarticulate cry fell from my lips as my jaw went slack. He was stroking, thrusting, kissing, _licking…_

I fell back down and reached a shaking hand out to grab his hair. Just in time, too. He started _sucking_ and that stirred the instantaneous need to _hold onto something_. My hips bucked wildly, but he didn’t seem to care much; he wrapped one large hand over one of my thighs, to keep me sort of stationary, but he didn’t move his other hand from its current mission. The result was that I sort of _twisted_ against him, my thighs trembling with the force of the pleasure that kept _hovering_ on a frustrating plateau.

In retrospect, I had to have pulled out quite a few strands of his hair; my fist turned and twisted along with my body. Thrawn gave no indication of concern, however. He kept his tongue on my clit, a seemingly inexhaustible tool of pleasure. He scraped his teeth against my delicate little nub a few times and _that_ made me shout. He wiggled and scissored and stroked his fingers inside of me. Finally, he closed his lips around my clit a second time and began a pulsing sort of suckle that finally, _finally_ threw me screaming over the edge.

There was nothing for several long seconds, except blackness, and thoughtlessness, and pleasure so intense it almost _hurt_. Thrawn kept stroking, _sucking_ me through it, until I finally came to my senses and flattened my palm against his high forehead to push him away. He _had_ to have the last say - as it were - as he flicked the hardened tip of his tongue against my clit one last time. I jerked and mewled, and then I was suddenly empty, as he pulled his fingers free of my grasping muscles. He lingered just long enough to lick away my cum and I watched, chest heaving and eyes wide, as he lifted himself up and _swallowed_.

He knelt there between my spread legs and stared down at me for a long moment; his chin glistened obscenely in the soft lights above the bed, and his expression was not far from what I imagined he made after winning a battle.

“Now,” he finally said, his voice impossibly rough, his accent the thickest I’d heard yet that night. “ _That_ ,” he  reached up and wiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “I’ll take credit for.”

I laughed, but it was weak. I was still trying to gather back my breath after such a hard and lingering orgasm. My clit _throbbed_ and I was pretty sure I’d lost all capability of controlling my limbs.

I looked down the heaving length of my body and eyed his cock. He was as hairless between his legs as he was anywhere else. I licked my lips eagerly at the thought that I wouldn’t have to worry about pesky pubic hairs down the back of my throat when I went down on him. That thought was then immediately chased by the reflection that “going down” might be a fairly relative term on Thrawn. His cock was _long_ , like his fingers, and just thick enough that I knew it would burn a little when he pushed inside of me. Blood flushed his skin darker there and there was a faint _pinkness_ to his head.

My eyes flickered up to his nipples, then to his mouth. Such a soft hue seemed almost, ridiculously, feminine on him. The only truly _red_ part of him were the markings beneath his eyes...and of course, his eyes themselves. Everything else was painted in varying shades of frost.

He moved his hand and my eyes fell immediately. I watched, my mouth turning suddenly dry in stark _want_ , as he gripped the base of his cock. He tugged at it and made a show - for my benefit, for sure - of stroking that long length once, twice, three times. I finally felt my motor control return and I began to sit up, began to reach for him. Before I could make it to my goal, however, he’d let go of his cock and grabbed me by the shoulders.

“As much as I’d like to watch you lower that lovely mouth of yours over me,” he reached up to cup my chin and to briefly flick a thumb over my lower lip. “It’s been at least seven years since I’ve had the pleasure of a woman’s company.”

Jealousy flared up, bright and hot in my veins. Who had gotten to enjoy his body, his _mouth_ , his _cock_ , while I’d been left without? He apparently interpreted the look in my eyes correctly, as he chuckled and tapped a finger playfully against the tip of my nose.

“That’s not a look that suits you,” he rebuked mildly.

I flushed. He had a point. I’d had plenty of relationships in the last 30 years. I’d even been _court martialed_ for one of them, so there was _no_ denying _that_ fact. I could hardly fault him for seeking out the occasional comfort during that same amount of time.

“If it is any consolation,” he murmured, even as his hands worked at pulling me to my knees and coaxing me to turn around. “You _are_ the first human I’ve ever bedded.”

I whimpered at the thought. And, of course, my ego wouldn’t let me accept the compliment with any measure of humility.

“And?” I tossed my shoulder, not even paying attention to how he was positioning me on my knees, my back to him. “What do you think so far?”

“I think,” he was trying to sound detached and failing miserably, as he pushed at my back until I dropped down to press my palms flat against the bed. “That there is absolutely no chance of me taking you gently.”

The words were barely out of his mouth, before he slammed his hips forward. I shouted his name in a mixture of pleasure, (a little) pain, and surprise, as he slid effortlessly into me in one long, swift stroke. Before I had a chance to adjust, he was pulling out to the tip...and then back into me with enough force to make me fall to my elbows with a undignified grunt.

His hands fell to my hips and he gripped me so hard that I fully expected bruises there the next morning. His took me with short, sharp thrusts that left me _howling_. I tried to muffle the sounds of my pleasure by burying my face in the covers. But, without missing a single stroke, he lifted one hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He pulled, unforgiving and uncaring of any discomfort he might have given me, until I was forced to lift my head up out of the mattress. He _kept_ pulling - all the while slamming his hips ruthlessly against the back of my thighs - until I was back up on my hands and my spine was arched to a point that bordered just on the edge of uncomfortable.

“Someone…hear…” I choked out in the only protest I could manage.

“Good,” he hissed through his teeth, that strange sibilant sound slurring the edges of his words. “Let them know that the galaxy isn’t the only thing I _claim_.”

Oh. Kriffing. _Force._

He just _had_ to say something like that. I felt my muscles clamp down on him and we both groaned at the exquisite feeling of me trying to hold tight to him. I felt - a large part of me in _denial_ over the fact - him pushing me steadily toward _another_ orgasm.

He was so _kriffing_ long - each thrust bottomed him out against me. I was practically _crying_ from the heady mix of sensations and even though I tried to bite my lip and muffle my cries, his pace was too unforgiving for me to keep any semblance of control. I scrabbled at the sheets and lost myself to the unbelievable feeling of him _burning hot_ inside of me. I was stretched, and filled, and _fucked_. Gloriously, wonderfully, intoxicatingly _fucked_.

“Lyri…”

He moaned my name like a prayer, as his hips finally stuttered. There was one final push - hard - against me, as he buried himself as far inside of me as he could go. I _felt_ him cumming - fiery, forceful  _bursts_ \- and the sensation made my bones shudder and melt.

“Thrawn…” I gasped, as a I came again - so softly, this time, as to be almost overlooked.

He let go of my hair and we both collapsed onto the bed. I had just enough strength left to push against the mattress and force us both to roll onto our sides. He was still hard inside of me, but I could feel the mess of us dripping onto my thighs, and knew he’d grow soft soon enough. I didn’t mind if he stayed inside of me while he did, so I didn’t pull away. In fact, I snuggled my back up against his chest and pulled one of his arms underneath my neck, so I could use his bicep as a pillow.

This was always the delicate moment - would he let us stay like this, or…?

I shouldn’t have worried. He let me cuddle and even joined in, by draping his free arm over my side and around the bottom of my breasts. He was warm, and sweaty, and breathless. I hummed happily in the back of my throat.

“What took us so long, Thrawn?” I asked, as I felt our cum dry on my skin, as our breathing started leveling out, and as he continued to nestle between my thighs.

“Stupidity,” was the pithy, gravely answer.

  
I laughed. And he laughed with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick things: I'm in the last year of my Master's program and classes just started back up today. The good news is, this quarter's work load is ridiculously light (comparative to OTHER quarters I've had...as in...all of them). The bad news is, I sorta have this thesis-thing due in May. :-/ Soooo...updates from this point on won't be as fast as these last three have been. I'M NOT ABANDONING YA'LL, just to be clear. But, there might be a week or two gap between new chapters. Thankfully, this was mostly meant to be a short sort of thing. So, besides a few more sex-capades between Lyri and Thrawn, the story is close to finished, as is.
> 
> I think I left this at a pretty good point, though. At least there's a modicum of resolution. LOL Hopefully, ya'll feel the same.
> 
> In the meantime....don't abandon meeeeee! I'd suggest bookmarking this fic, if you're partial to it. You'll get an email alert, then, when I update and you don't have to constantly check back. ;)
> 
> Second: I'm taking bets...who thinks we'll see this season of Rebels end with Kallus taking the Grand Admiral down with him? Dunno 'bout ya'll....but frankly...I think that'd be...well...artistically done.


	5. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn learns more about Lyri's body. Lyri learns that Thrawn isn't shy about getting dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm half-asleep and not quite sure how I managed to write most of this in my current state. LOL But, here's an update. Can't say I have much to say about it at the moment, though...
> 
> MUCH LOVE and THANKS to everyone who's bookmarked, kudo-ed, and commented. Ya'll keep this story coming (no pun intended?).

_ “Romantic lovers require from each other at least the facade of reason: We desire to be what romantic love makes us appear in the other's eyes. We want to imagine we are deserving of the love we inspire.” _

**Maggie Gallagher**

* * *

  
  


I woke up sometime later - maybe three or four hours into our sleep cycle - to the feel of calloused hands ghosting over the curves of my side. For a moment, I was confused, though not alarmed. The feeling of safety was instinctive and the fingers that lingered against my skin were almost reverent. For a few moments, I thought it was Halsuu behind me. But, then I heard an alien language as it was muttered against my shoulder and I remembered.

_ Thrawn _ .

I moaned, an expression of deep satisfaction, and rolled onto my back. His hand smoothed over my body as it moved, until it came to rest right above my clean-shaven cunt. I was absently glad for the 30-year-old-habit; as hairless as Thrawn’s body was, I would have been a thousand times more self-conscious if I merely trimmed, or went au naturale.

“What’s got you awake at such an ungodly hour?” my voice was slightly hoarse from sleep.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he merely chuckled and pushed his hips against me. I felt the hard, achingly  _ hot _ length of him grind suggestively against my thigh.

“Oh,” I responded, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

I lifted the hand that had fallen between us, that was trapped between my side and his stomach, and brushed searching fingers against the silky skin of his fully flushed cock. Thrawn’s breath hitched, then hissed.

“There’s  _ that _ ,” his own voice was rough. “And I’m not used to sleeping with someone. I was passing the time by admiring your tattooes.”

It took me a muddled moment to remember that Thrawn could see in the dark, far above and beyond what a human was able. He’d often taken point, as a cadet, in our Academy field exercises, whenever our squad had to move during the night. In fact, even though he had adjusted to it by the time we parted ways at graduation, bright light had always been uncomfortable for him.

“Trying to figure out what they all match up to?” I asked softly, as my fingers continued to curl around and tug at him.

“Yes,” he choked out the word as my thumb flicked over the head of his cock; he made no move to stop me, however, so I didn’t.

“I’ll tell you the achievement and you try to match it to the right tattoo?” I was sleepy, but that didn’t damper the sudden playfullness that the situation evoked.

“As you wish,” he murmured and he reached up to gently pull my hand away from his cock.

I made a soft, whining sort of sound and then jumped a bit in surprise as his breath brushed against the base of my neck in a soft laugh. Then, I felt him open his mouth and begin to drag his tongue across the slightly raised pattern that covered the top of my shoulder.

“Oh!” I gasped. “Not... _ quite _ ...what I, uh, meant. But, all right, um,” my words hitched as I felt his teeth nip lightly against my skin. “That one’s for finally making a command rank.”

I felt the loss of his mouth, but the ache was only for a second. I could feel and hear his body shift against me and then his tongue was back against my skin, beneath my right breast.

“Uh...ah…” I felt my body flair to life, as he licked such a sensitive zone. “I-I’m sure you feel the blaster bolt scar. Th-that’s for surviving, and winning, my first hostile encounter.”

Then he was gently biting my bicep. I couldn’t stifle a groan.

“Th-that’s for...for…” my mind went blank for a moment, as he rocked against my thigh again, his teeth still scraping deliciously against my skin. “F-for taking down Grand M-Moff Deesra. Th-that investigation took  _ y-years _ and he tried everything h-he could to r-ruin my career before I could e-expose him.”

It had taken a lot of internal strength, conviction, cunning, and fortitude to take that conniving old spider down.  _ That _ particular tattoo was quite elaborate as a result, and covered the entire area of skin between my shoulder and my elbow. It had been one of the most defining investigations of my entire 30-year career.

He moved slightly to hover over me, as he mouthed along the curve of my hip, toward my navel. The tattoo there reached from thigh to thigh, with my belly button at the center. It was meant to mimic a dancer’s belly chain, like the one I had worn -

“I had to go undercover as a dancer, to expose the excesses of  _ your _ predecessor, Grand Admiral Konin. I-I must say that I-I like what you’ve d-done to his pleasure r-room,” I gestured weakly toward the bedroom door, beyond which was Thrawn’s second command deck, as his tongue dipped briefly into my navel.

He removed his tongue and huffed against my stomach. I’d gotten a laugh out of him, then. Then he seemed to think of something and paused.

“Surely…?” his voice trailed off.

Bless Thrawn for being such a gentleman. I’d have slapped any other man for asking such a question. He seemed to realize that and cut himself off. With him, though, I didn’t mind admitting the truth.

“Yes, I  _ did _ ,” I answered matter-of-factly. “It was my first time with another woman.”

Thrawn was but a man. I could  _ hear _ his brain short-circuiting. It was my turn to laugh softly.

“Konin was a total voyeur. I never had to actually  _ fuck _ him,” there was a deep-chested sort of growl at my use of such vulgarity and I smiled triumphantly at the thought that Thrawn enjoyed hearing me curse as much as I liked hearing him do the same. “I had to ‘perform’ for him with a Twi’lek. As long as I didn’t look at the admiral, I quite enjoyed myself. She was blue - I thought of you, mostly, for which I did feel a bit guilty.”

“No need for that,” Thrawn rumbled, his lips still against my stomach.

“Oh, it wasn’t for  _ your  _ benefit,” I smiled wickedly in the dark. “I always thought it rather rude to  _ her _ . She was very sweet and  _ very _ eager to please. It never seems right to think of another when your thoughts and attention ought to be on the one you’re with. She deserved better than me  _ or _ Konin.”

There were a few moments of silence - and the absence of his lips against my skin - before his mouth closed over my ankle. After a second there, he spoke:

“Is this what this one is for, then? You freed her, didn’t you?”

“I saved up enough - and pulled enough favors in from the Fringe - to free them  _ all _ . But,” my breath hitched as his strong fingers began to rub the bottom of my foot at the same time as his tongue laved the tendon behind my ankle. “Freeda was first.”

He kissed each ankle, then my wrists. When he lightly bit the inside of my left wrist, I thought I’d melt into the mattress.

“There were four of them, then?”

“Five,” I reached my non-nibbled hand up to my throat; his lips quickly followed and for several seconds, I was utterly incapable of speech. “This one is...is for Freeda.”

“A significant placement,” he murmured, astute as always. “She was also a friend?”

“She is  _ still _ a friend,” I arched my back up and into him as he slowly mounted me. “And at the time, sh-she was instrumental in h-helping me t-take K-Konin d-down.”

“She was blue-skinned, you say?” he lingered at the slender tattoo around my throat; it was mostly lines, instead of diamonds, and had been easily hidden over the years beneath my uniform jacket collar.

“Y-yes,” I squeaked, as he nibbled my collar bone. “Almost the same sh-shade as you. Freckled, too. T-totally different personality, th-though.”

He chuckled again and lowered his hips to tease his cock against the wet curve of my cunt. I bucked my hips, shameless in my need.

“Oh, just  _ fuck _ me, Thrawn,” I begged, my patience for foreplay almost non-existent,  _ again _ .

He could unravel me simply with several judiciously-placed kisses. He was much a master of the bedroom as he was of the war room. And, of course, he  _ knew it _ .

“And to think you kiss me with that mouth,” he  _ purred _ against my lips.

“If you don’t  _ shut up _ and bury that kriffing  _ amazing _ cock of yours in me, I swear I’ll-”

Whatever threat I was vaguely summoning from thin air, evaporated the instant he pushed himself roughly inside of me. He’d positioned himself perfectly, without my guidance or his own hand, and I hadn’t even noticed. My ability to focus on anything but his eyes had disappeared the instant he’d straddled me. And he knew it - he  _ knew _ what he did to me.

“ _ Fuck _ , Thawn,” I threw my head back -  _ hard _ \- against my pillow and moaned at the way he stretched me.

Just pushing into me and he had my toes curling.

He reached between us for a moment and I felt him spread my lips open wide. Then he settled his body firmly down over mine and I could feel my clit pressed against his pelvis, without the cover of my labia to hide behind. I whimpered; I didn’t need to be told that I was at his mercy.

What he did next, however, surprised me even further. He wrapped his arms around the tops of my shoulders and  _ cradled _ me against him. One large hand cupped the back of my head, and we were pressed together from nose to toes. Then he started to  _ move _ and my eyes wasted no time in rolling back as I fought to breathe through the unrelenting  _ pleasure _ .

He took his time. Each push of his hips was precise, his pace leisurely, as if we had all the time in the galaxy. And maybe we did. It was Grand Admiral Thrawn’s galaxy, after all...even if only the two of us knew that.

I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and tangled my fingers in his hair. All I could see in the dark room were his eyes, glowing bright and red above me, as he steadily pushed and pulled my body closer toward climax. His pelvic bone rubbed relentlessly across my little clit and I was unraveling,  _ fast _ . His breath was in my hair, the heat of his body made mine slick with sweat, and he was so  _ powerful _ . So  _ kriffing powerful _ , all sculpted muscle and singular intent. He stole all the words I wanted to stay straight out of my mouth, with his clever tongue and supple lips. My entire existence narrowed down to  _ this, _ to  _ us _ , to the whispers between each claiming kiss.

“...So  _ wet _ , Lyri,” he murmured; I could only whimper at the sheer  _ wickedness _ of his words. “And I hardly did anything. You’re going to drive me to distraction all day,” I dimly extrapolated from his choice of phrasing, that it must have been past midnight, according to ship’s time. “I’m going to  _ smell _ you, aren’t I? All  _ wet _ and  _ wanting _ ?”

I just nodded my head and buried my face in his shoulder. Yes, yes he would most certainly smell my desire. I doubted I could ever be around him again, without the visceral need to press our naked flesh together, to feel him move deep inside of me. My thoughts then skittered over to the realization that I would also smell like  _ him _ and I moaned helplessly. He nipped my ear and I knew that he wanted me to participate in his lewd discussion.

“I-I,” I struggled to express a cohesive thought, as he shifted slightly above me and began to slide  _ relentlessly _ , back and forth, across the spot inside of me that made me see stars. “I c-can control m-myself.”

“Ah,” Thrawn’s teeth now nipped at the end of my nose. “So you’ll be able to keep yourself from thinking about me  _ fucking _ you on all fours? Or about me making love to you? You’ll be able to feel your uniform rub against your bruises and your love bites, and  _ not _ think about the way I can make you come with just my tongue? Will you even,” he lowered his mouth to my ear and  _ drawled _ , his Imperial accent back, his native accent abruptly hidden. “Be able to hear me issue orders, without wanting to rub your thighs together?”

He was  _ everywhere _ . Within me. Above me. Around me. I was  _ drowning _ in the sensations of his body - in his hardness, in his strength, in his control, in his smell, in his heat, in his voice. My clit kept rubbing and rubbing...his cock kept stroking and stroking…

I clawed at his back, desperate for the release I could feel building slowly - oh, so  _ kriffing _ slowly - inside of me. I knew he wanted an answer and I struggled to make my tongue work.

“N-no,” I finally admitted, the word practically wrestled out of my throat by sheer force of will. “I-I won’t b-be able t-to… I mean, I…”

_ I couldn’t think straight _ . The weight of him pressed down on me, delicious and comforting and  _ safe _ .

“I-I’m going to w-want you a-again as s-soon -” I hiccuped over my words as he shifted his hips again and began tapping lightly against my cervix. “As s-soon as th-this is o-over…”

“How insatiable of you,” I could feel him smirking against my hair.

“Th-thirty years, Th-Thrawn,” I reminded him breathlessly.

_ How _ in the universe was he able to talk so  _ normally _ , while slowly fucking my brains out? I could barely focus enough to string together two words. If I had any ounce of dignity left, I would have been embarrassed by how I couldn’t complete a full sentence without stuttering. But, whatever dignity I might have possessed  _ before _ dropping my pants in front of Thrawn, had disappeared quickly thereafter. There was nothing, I was convinced, that could withstand the patient onslaught of his voice, his tongue, his hands, his  _ cock _ .

“I will endeavor to make up for lost time,” he panted heavily against my throat.

“This is a good s-start,” my voice cracked as he dragged a hand down my side and hooked a hand beneath my thigh.

He pulled my leg up, so that I was forced to hook my calf over his lower back. Instinct lead me to lift my other leg of my own accord and wrap it around him so that my heel was digging into his ass. This changed the angle of his thrusts considerably and when I tightened my legs around him in response, my heels simply pushed his hips deeper into me. We both groaned in approval.

“Come for me, Lyri,” now it was time for  _ his _ voice to crack, with the strain of his powerful thrusts.

“Oh,  _ fek _ ,” I dug my nails into the skin of his shoulders and clenched hard down on his cock. “I’m….I….I’m s-so close!”

“Harder,” Thrawn began to pick up his speed.

“Wha-?” I shook my head in confusion.

“My back,” he hissed into my mouth, right before plunging his tongue between my teeth.

Oh.  _ Oh _ . I understood immediately and raked my nails down his back. I held back, though, and Thrawn knew it.

“ _ Harder _ ,” he commanded harshly and I could feel the pleasure building up inside of me begin to quiver on the edge of release.

There was a part of me that immediately began to fret over the idea of hurting him. Thankfully, the larger part of my conscience understood that pain was exactly what he wanted. I dug my nails into his shoulder blades and put real pressure behind the slow drag down toward his ass. Even with my fingernails trimmed to regulation length, I knew that it was likely that I would draw blood. That didn’t seem to matter to Thrawn one bit - or, perhaps it  _ did _ , in all the right ways.

By the time my fingers hit his lower back, he had pushed himself as deep as he could go inside of me and had started coming with a hoarse shout. I felt three, four,  _ five _ strong spurts, as he filled me with far more than I could hold. He hadn’t even  _ begun _ to slide out of me and I could feel his cum coating our thighs. He was already pressed on top of me, but his whole body went limp with his release; as the weight of his solid, muscular mass pressed me deep into the mattress, I wondered absently what his cum tasted like. He was clearly able to perform more than once a night, so I mused over the idea of initiating the next go-round with my mouth on his cock, as I ran gentler hands over his back and we both caught our breath.

“I think I drew blood,” I murmured as my fingers smoothed over what certainly felt like broken skin, just below the sharp curve of his shoulder blade.

“You did,” his tone was one of satisfaction.

“Sucker for pain, huh?” I teased him gently.

“It clears the mind,” he said simply.

He kissed me slowly then, with the same focused, leisurely intent as he had fucked me. The deep, sensuous strokes of his tongue made my toes curl in delight.  _ Stars _ , but the man knew how to kiss. And he tasted  _ so good _ , like smokey tea and just the faintest hint of mint.

All too soon, the kiss ended, and I thought he’d pull out of me and away. But, he just tightened his grip around me and rolled onto his back. The strength of his arms pulled me with him and I gasped softly in surprise as he switched our positions so smoothly. He didn’t even fall out of me.

If there was one quality that Grand Admiral Thrawn perfectly embodied, it was  _ strength _ . Anyone could see it in the way he carried himself, in the way he gave orders, in the way he drove relentlessly after the Rebels. There were only a few of us in the entire galaxy, however, who knew that he wielded his strength just as effortlessly in his bed. I almost couldn’t believe that I was, finally, one of those lucky few.

I flattened my palms against the firm swell of his chest and raised myself up above him. Those red eyes of his were half-open, but their gaze still  _ hungry _ . Thrawn didn’t even try to hide the way he swept his eyes over the length of my torso as I pulled myself up on my knees above him. His hands slid confidently down my back and settled on my thighs, as he considered where our bodies met. I could still feel him stiff inside of me - he was softening much more slowly than he had the first time. I wiggled my hips experimentally, and was a bit surprised by the vulnerable flutter of his eyelashes and the deep groan that fell from behind his slightly parted lips.

“Sensitive?” I yelped when he dug his fingers sharply into my quadriceps.

“Very,” he laughed, but it was short and breathless.

“Sorry,” I bit my lip and looked down at him with true contrition. “You’re still hard.”

“Give me a few minutes,” Thrawn swallowed hard and then tilted his head back to show me his bare throat. “I won’t be for much longer.”

“Want me to get off?” I normally wouldn’t have asked such an obvious answer, but it seemed that even the slightest movement of my body stole away his ability to breathe.

“Yes,” the forcefulness of his answer took me by surprise and I stared down at him in confusion. “We’re not done until you do.”

I frowned, but before I could move, he had grabbed my hips and started tugging me up higher on my knees. He had titled his chin back down toward his chest and the look he gave me made me feel like prey. In a good way, mind you - but still, like something he very much wanted to claim and  _ eat _ .

He drew out a deep hiss as he began to pull himself out of me. Our thighs were quickly  _ drenched _ in cum and I wondered if such a large ejaculation was normal for him. I didn’t mind in the slightest, but it made me wonder if maybe we should keep a towel handy from this point forward. Sex with Thrawn had the potential to be rather messy, I suspected, and I didn’t want him to have to change his sheets every time I shared his bed with him.  _ That _ then lead to the thought that I was rather glad ship’s laundry was cleaned by droids. No one, then, to speculate about the increasingly frequent stains on their Grand Admiral’s bed linens.

My private speculations were cut short when I felt him start to shimmy his body between my thighs. Surprise rendered me speechless, however, as I watched him squirm his way down, his hands on my hips holding me where I was. I had to spread my knees a little wider to accommodate the passing of his shoulders and I stifled a low moan.  _ Kriff _ , but he was such a well-built man.

I was unable to stifle a moan, however, when his mouth came level with my cunt.

“Thrawn,” I shook my head in disbelief, incapable of uttering anything except his name.

“It seems I’ve made quite the mess,” his eyes glittered up at me and I struggled to remember how to breathe. “It’s only polite that I should lick you clean.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” I finally managed.

“Such language,” he clicked his tongue at me and then, without any further warning, slid the last inch or two beneath me and pulled my hips down over his face.

Thrawn was never given to exaggeration or hyperbole, so  _ lick me clean _ he did. And with unfettered  _ enthusiasm _ . Just three broad swipes between my labia with his tongue and I started swearing loudly in Huttese. My thighs trembled beneath his large hands and I reached for his hair, desperate for something to hold onto, to anchor me amid the electrifying sensations he was stirring up inside of me. He dragged his tongue through his cum and began fucking me slowly, in clear mimicry of how he had moved his cock inside of me just minutes earlier. I started to beg, not even consciense of the words that started falling from my lips, as I thrust my fingers into his dark blue hair. His hands encouraged my hips to move and before too long, I was grinding my clit against his nose, desperate for friction as he thrust his tongue in and out of me.

I  _ rode _ Thrawn’s face, shameless in my desire and greedy for release. He was slow  _ close _ to giving me what I wanted, but his tongue wasn’t where I truly wanted it. I tried to communicate that in the way I wiggled my hips above his mouth, but he ignored my request. Instead, he began to lick in and around my opening and gathered his juices and mine with firm, intentional strokes.

Just when I thought I’d have to pull his hair to get him to finally drag his tongue up to my clit, he pulled my hips up. I shuddered and whimpered above him, as I watched him pull two large breathes in.

“Oh, Force,” I half-laughed, half-moaned. “I was smothering you.”

“No need for apology,” he turned his eyes up toward mine, after another strong intake of air. “I can hold my breath for at least five minutes.”

“Of course you can,” I tried to laugh again, but the sound that came out was much closer to a whine.

“I could keep going,” he explained conversationally, as he tugged and pulled gently at my waist, until my cunt hovered more over his chin than his mouth. “But, I needed a better position for this.”

_ This _ was pulling me back down toward his face and closing his mouth over my clit.

“Yes!” I cried out triumphantly as he began to work his tongue rapidly over and around the tiny bundle of nerves. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , Thrawn!”

It took  _ maybe _ a minute for him to finally get me off. The release of my pleasure was sudden and I shouted his name over and over as wave after wave of sensation slammed into me. My orgasm was so intense, that my body doubled over his head and I had to let go of his hair to catch my weight on palms pressed flat against the mattress above him. I shook and shouted above him as he licked me through the powerful ripples of bliss that whited out any possible thought.

I was still panting, on my hands and knees, when Thrawn wiggled out from underneath me and rose to his knees beside me. The heat of his hand down my back slowly brought me back to reality, though I was still only capable of whimpering pathetically as he gently pulled me up against his torso.

“Breathe,” he laughed softly against my neck as he began to run his hand down my stomach.

“I have never met a man with a mouth like yours,” I panted.

He just chuckled into my skin as he pressed his lips against the skin just beneath my jaw. I gasped and twitched as he slowly slid a finger, then another, into my wet cunt. His other hand moved up to curl around my throat and I melted against him as he squeezed his fingers lightly. My own hands came up to grip his forearm and even as sensitive as I was, I bucked my hips against his fingers as he twisted them inside of me. When he removed them, I sighed, not sure if I was relieved or disappointed by the sudden, aching emptiness between my legs.

“Care to taste?” he whispered wickedly against my ear, as he lifted two cum-coated fingers to my lips.

I answered by opening my mouth and letting him slide his fingertips against my tongue. I closed my eyes as I suckled his fingers clean and swirled my tongue against his cum. I could taste a little bit of me, but mostly it was him - his taste sharper and tangier than any I’d tried before. He tasted faintly of citrus, in fact, and I dimly recalled that in addition to caf, he was equally fond of shig, a type of tea that frequently featured the citrusy behot herb. Thrawn would often drink it in the evenings, especially if he wanted a gentler boost of energy than what caf would provide.

“Thoughts?” his soft voice flowed over my cheek as he slowly pulled his fingers free of my lips.

“I think I need a larger sample before I really make up my mind,” I teased him gently.

“Give it a few hours and that can certainly be arranged,” he loosened his grip on my throat and began to tug me down toward the mattress with him.

“Mmmm,” I purred at the thought of wrapping my tongue around him and returning te favor he had already given to me twice that night.

We settled back against the pillows, my chest pressed against his side, and his left arm curled around my shoulders to hold me close to him. I slid a hand slowly across his chest and felt a streak of wetness between his pecs. Curious, I let my fingers drift down toward his navel and found more moisture there. For a moment, I puzzled over this, but then it came to me. When he had slid down between my legs, the cum still dripping from my cunt had left a trail marking his descent.

“Guess I got you dirty,” I started to push myself up, with the intention of licking  _ him _ clean, but he held onto my shoulder and kept me firmly plastered to his side.

“I don’t mind it,” Thrawn’s words had a strange muffled quality and I smiled into his ribs as I realized he was trying to stifle a yawn. “You can clean me up later.”

If we weren’t both so tired, I would have tried to start something up again then and there. The fact that, beneath those impeccable Imperial manners, Thrawn didn’t care about getting dirty (in the many variations of the word), was incredibly sexy. I told him as much and he huffed softly against my hair.

“You should never let the uniform fool you.”

  
“Oh,” I promised him with a smile and a kiss. “It never has.”


End file.
